


Uncalled For Actions

by justanotherjen



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Childhood Friends, Dysfunctional Family, Escape, Family Drama, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Pre-Canon, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherjen/pseuds/justanotherjen
Summary: When Gilgamesh Holzfäller is fourteen, he’s taken on as an apprentice to Baron Wulfenbach as part of a program to produce the next generation of leaders in the Empire–a group that will hopefully get along (although most see this as wishful thinking on the Baron’s part).He’s learned a lot over the months of shadowing the Baron, but nothing has prepared him for his most challenging assignment: confronting the skeletons in his closet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been written in groups of sentences starting at the beginning of January with one sentence on the 1st then two sentences on the 2nd, etc. So it's constantly being added to (you can find the most recent version at my [tumblr](http://randomly-random-jen.tumblr.com)) and each week I collect all of the entries into one chapter. This might become more frequent as the number of sentences/words grows with each day.
> 
> I didn't have a set idea or plot going into the story so I'm not sure where it will take me although I have since done some outlining to keep things moving along.

“I’m telling you,” Gil said through clenched teeth, “this is a really bad idea.”

The Baron regarded him over the edge of the newspaper he read with a withering stare. “Please sit down, you’re agitating the Jägers.”

Across the room, a couple of Jäger guards snickered to each other. Gil glared then crossed his arms, staring out the porthole–pointedly not sitting. The Baron went back to reading his paper with a rustling flourish, the Jägers continued to giggle and Gil pouted as Sturmhalten grew large on the horizon.

* * *

Tarvek watched from his window as the great Wulfenbach airship docked with the tower across the castle. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle a moment before he smelled Anevka’s perfume flutter in ahead of her.

“That’s sure a big one, isn’t it?” she said, leaning against the other side of the window.

Tarvek huffed at her terrible incorrectness–this was nothing compared to Castle Wulfenbach.

“So, how much of a disaster do you expect this farce to be,” his sister asked with humor in her eyes.

“Unmitigated,” Tarvek answered flatly as the stewards ran around the roof opposite of them, tying off the airship. It was almost showtime.

“Oh, come now, baby brother, I thought this was your thing–politics and intrigue-”

“Members of the Fifty Families under one roof with the Baron–this is a nightmare.”

“Always the optimist,” Anevka said with a sigh, patting his cheek affectionately. Tarvek slapped her hand away, and she left–her tinkling laugh following behind.

Across the courtyard, the airship was finally secured and the gangplank clanked down with a hiss of steam that matched the puff of Tarvek’s breath against the cool windowpane.

“I know you’re there,” he said suddenly to the silent room.

From the shadows, the small girl materialized, her wild red hair held in place by a golden headband. “Not fair,” she said, lip out in a pout.

Tarvek ignored her petulance. “Report.”

Violetta glared at him a moment longer–probably considering if she could get away with murder at the age of ten, he imagined–but eventually snapped to attention. “The castle is at capacity; we await only the Baron and his en- entou- entourage.”

Tarvek smiled at his reflection as she tripped over the new word he’d taught her earlier in the day. “How full are we talking?”

“Not including the castle residents and staff, fifty-four delegates of the Fifty families, their apprentices, 270 attendants, and about a hundred Smoke Knights.”

When Tarvek made no comment, Violetta shifted her weight nervously. “Do you really think something bad is going to happen?”

“With the various branches of our family involved, it’s almost a given.” He removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just keep your eyes open and stay out of sight, okay?“

Violetta didn’t answer, and when he replaced his glasses, he found himself alone again. She was getting good. She was going to need to be better.

* * *

The deck shuddered slightly as the steam winches kicked in, slowly tugging the airship closer to the landing tower of Sturmhalten Castle. The castle itself looked like the dozen others Gil had visited in the months since officially becoming the Baron’s apprentice, if not a little more war-torn–almost as if the residents failed to repair the century’s old scars of battle as a matter of pride. Knowing what he did of the Storm King myths, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.

“Gilgamesh,” the Baron called without looking up from his paper, “stop fidgeting.“

Gil winced, dropping his hands to his sides before he worried the buttons right off his new greatcoat–a habit he thought abandoned years ago. It was this place–Sturmhalten and all it represented–that was twisting his insides into knots. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he mumbled to his reflection in the porthole.

Across the compartment, the baron sighed, snapping his paper shut with the flick of a wrist.

The expected lecture was interrupted by a flurry of fur and velvet bursting through the door.

The Jäger guards darted out of the way of the diminutive human-canine hybrid the Baron had picked up from an ousted Madboy in Vienna–something about wanting minions as loyal as his dogs.

“Herr Baron,” he called, waving a paper.

“What is it, Barkley?”

Barkley bowed, his snout nearly touching the floor. “Initial reports from our spies inside Sturmhalten, sir. Already five assassination attempts thwarted.”

The Baron took the paper and scanned it. “Only five? I would have expected more.”

“The delegates from two of the Fifty Families have fallen to a mysterious illness producing bizarre symptoms,” Barkley continued.

“What symptoms?”

Barkley’s ears flattened against his skull. “Apparently they cluck now.”

That got a raised eyebrow from the Baron. “Cluck?”

“Yes, and they’ve grown feathers, but only when a bell rings.”

“Sounds like early-stage Oxfam’s Hypnotosia–very contagious. They’ll need to be isolated before the entire summit is laying eggs.”

Barkley nodded. "There have also been rumblings of monsters under the village.

“Well, it is Sturmhalten–I would expect nothing less.”

The Jäger next to Gil clapped his hands. "Monsters? Now hyu iz talkink.”

“No, Skurzi,” the Baron interrupted sternly. “No Jägers at the summit–that was the agreement.”

Skurzi sulked, shoulders hunched. “Hyu say dat now, but just hyu vait until a monster iz chompink on hyu head then hyu vill be all like, ‘why Hy not listen to Skurzi. Oh, howz Hy vish Skurzi vas here to fightz dis big scary monster.’”

The other Jägers nodded in agreement, but the Baron didn’t look at all swayed by the argument.

Gil watched the entire exchange with interest–he’d only recently been taken on as an apprentice, and found the day-to-day running of the Empire predictably tedious but also exceedingly fascinating where personnel was involved. Especially the Jägers. As much trouble as they caused, Gil wasn’t quite sure why his father kept them around but hadn’t found the nerve to yet assuage his curiosity.

The Jägers continued to grumble as they all followed the Baron through the decks of the airship but veered off when they got to the hatch to keep out of sight. Barkley hurried over to the rest of their party, leaving Gil alone with his father.

His anxiety ratcheted up with every clank of the gangplank lowering into place. He’d been excited months ago when his father took him on as an apprentice–some new Empire program to ready the next generation of rulers–but this assignment was going to kill him. There was absolutely no way it ended well.

The Baron suddenly reached out, slapping Gil’s hand away from the button of his coat. Gil cradled the injured appendage to his chest, shooting his father a withering glare. "You could have just said,” he muttered.

“You will be on your best behavior and none of this moping.”

Gil’s glare intensified. “I’m not moping–I have genuine misgivings about this meeting, and you aren’t listening to me.”

He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but his boldness seemed to soften his father’s characteristic sharp edges. “I know you’re worried about seeing the young prince again, but time marches on, Gil.”

 _Time marches on_? An electrifying anger built in Gil, filling his chest and spreading outward like lightning until the tips of his fingers and toes burned.

"That kind of betrayal isn’t something you just forget,” he spat through clenched teeth. How could he think Tarvek would ever be over it when Gil still hadn’t forgiven himself, and he wasn’t the one betrayed?

A hand clamped down tightly on his shoulder. “Control yourself,” his father commanded.

Gil seethed, eyes blazing, electricity crackling around him. Everywhere colors popped extra saturated and bright; sound returned more crisp and clear. Thoughts bounced around his head at supersonic speeds yet his brain didn’t struggle to keep up, and at the same time, reality seemed to slow down allowing for enhanced clarity. The increased harmonics of his voice finally registered, and he blinked, resetting the world around him.

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a shudder. “I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to.”

“The same passion that fuels the Spark often intensifies other emotions, and you must learn to restrain them lest they overwhelm your reason.”

If triggering his Spark was that easy, this trip just got a whole lot more complicated.


	2. Chapter 2

Ten-year-old Violetta Mondarev prowled around the edges of the central courtyard of Sturmhalten Castle, keeping to the shadows, watching the parade of dignitaries from all over the Empire, and catching snippets of conversation as Tarvek had ordered. She bit back a curse she’d heard some of the older Smoke Knights using when talking about the self-serving, conceited Madboys they worked for and what they thought of their orders.

She shook her head–Tarvek wasn’t really like that, she reminded herself. Sure, they disagreed and he reprimanded her when she mouthed off, but of all their family, only he ever showed an ounce of respect towards her, and that was what ensured her loyalty above the solemn oaths she was forced to take–he was a prat, but he was a reasonable prat.

Violetta scurried up a tree in the corner and hid among its branches to get a better view. Spring had barely arrived, and although buds had begun to sprout, a bitter wind whipped down from the mountains, fluttering her bangs into her eyes. She could easily tell those raised in the lower elevations–they were the ones bundled in furs and multiple wool overcoats, hats with ear-flaps and lined, leather gloves. They were soft compared to the natives of Balan’s Gap and the surrounding mountains, two of which suddenly appeared at the open window next to her perch.

“But I want to go to the meeting,” said a young girl with a stomp of her foot.

Violetta instantly recognized the voice of one of her cousins, Seffie von Blitzengaard, so it didn’t surprise her that Seffie’s idiot brother, Martellus, answered back in his typical condescending tone– _talk about a prat_.

“Well, you can’t–you have to be at least thirteen to be an apprentice.”

“I’m almost twelve.”

“Still not thirteen,” Martellus answered, tweaking her nose.

Violetta waited until the sounds of her cousins’ footsteps disappeared in the distance before making her way down, but she didn’t get more than a couple branches before strong hands grabbed her cloak, dragging her in through the window with a yelp of surprise. On her feet inside, she spun around to find herself face to face with an annoyed, and therefore, dangerous Martellus von Blitzengaard.

“Well, well, what do we have here? The Littlest Smoke Knight. Don’t you know spying is bad for your health.” He gave Violetta a good shake for emphasis, and Violetta returned it with a quick kick to his shin.

Martellus dropped her to grab his aching leg, but before Violetta could make her escape, his hands twisted in her cloak, lifting her off the floor and holding her against the wall with his freakishly long arms so she couldn’t kick him again. “Listen here, you little brat-”

“Why would I spy on you? Unless you have something to hide, and now, I’m interested.”

Martellus shook her again, knocking her head against the hard stones. “You know, Violetta, one day your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

Violetta struggled against his iron-clad grip. “Yeah, but not before the two cells you call a brain get you-”

He slammed her into the wall again, knocking the wind out of her. The fight was beyond unfair with Violetta being ten and Martellus being a giant at seventeen, but she was a Smoke Knight and Smoke Knights didn’t fight fair. She reached up to her neck like she was choking, getting a brief concerned look from her cousin, then undid the clasp to her cloak. Dropping softly to her feet, she rolled between his legs before he even knew what was happening then gave him a good kick to the back of his knee, throwing him forward–his face connecting with the stones in a satisfying crunch.

Somersaulting backward, she flipped onto her feet and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, eyes frantically searching for a way out of the seldom-used part of the castle. Martellus recovered quicker than she’d hoped, and his legs had no trouble catching up to her. She tried to sidestep with a pivot move, but Martellus had twice the Smoke Knight training and anticipated it, his arms catching her around the chest like a vice.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he rasped, breath hot in her ear. “I think it’s time you learned a lesson about the dangers of climbing trees–one wrong step and-” He dragged her to a nearby window, threw it open, and made a whistling sound as he forced her over the sill.

“Idiot,” Violetta hissed, “a fall from this height wouldn’t kill me.”

“It will if you land on your head.” With that, he shoved her farther over–everything but her legs dangling above the five-meter drop.

Violetta calculated the odds of her surviving even as she struggled against the bigger boy, her fingers winding in the sleeves of his coat for support. She could scream and alert the delegates below, but Smoke Knights were drilled to be silent even in death.

“Put her down, Tweedle.”

They both froze at the sound of Tarvek’s voice. He casually strolled down the hall, hands in his pockets as if Violetta wasn’t moments from plummeting to her death.

A terrifying smile crossed Martellus’ face. “As you wish, your Highness.“

And he let go.

Violetta squeaked in shock as she tumbled back, but the expected fall never came. It took her several seconds of deep breathing to assess the situation–the highlight being her head not broken open on the stone steps below. She glanced up at Tarvek–his body pressed against her legs to keep her from falling–then let her head fall back against the wall with a silent sigh of relief.

* * *

Tarvek hauled Violetta back into the castle, made sure the hobnobbing dignitaries were none-the-wiser then slammed the window. “I thought I told you to stay out of sight,” he said, whirling on his cousin. Despite only four years between them, he towered over the smaller girl, but she showed no signs of intimidation with her hands on her hips, scowl set, eyes blazing.

Tarvek took a step out of her personal space–she might be small and young, but she was trained in the various methods to use that to her advantage in the most painful ways imaginable. He cleared his throat. “What happened?”

Violetta relaxed her stance some and straightened her hair. “I was staying out of sight until Tweedle stuck his nose in my business,” she spat before marching past him. “And I don’t need your help.”

“Really?” Tarvek fell into step beside her. “Because you were two seconds away from being the next family tragedy.”

She stopped to pick up her cloak in front of another open window and shook it out. “I can take care of myself.”

“Martellus is dangerous,” he told her, pinching his nose with a sigh.

“You think I don’t know that?” she said, flipping her cloak onto her shoulders and smacking him in the face with it, sending his glasses flying almost as if on purpose.

Tarvek stooped to find the glasses. “Then why do you antagonize him?”

“Because it’s fun,” she answered all too cheerily. “Besides, it’s my job to keep you safe, not the other way around.”

“But you annoying Martellus keeps neither of us safe.” He finally found the glasses and settled them on his nose to glare at Violetta who only shrugged.

“I told you, I can take care of myself–I didn’t need your help.”

Tarvek shook his head in frustration. “Violetta-”

Somewhere in the castle, a horn sounded, catching his attention and saving the Smoke Knight another lecture. He fished his watch from his pocket to check the time–he was late–but when he looked up again, Violetta was nowhere to be seen. He glanced up and down the empty hall then ran to the open window.  _Nothing_. He’d looked away for less than five seconds. So maybe she was better than he thought, but it didn’t really quiet the foreboding building in his gut.

He had no time to worry about Violetta or where she went, though–his father was going to kill him for being late to the opening ceremony. He took off at a run despite all his lessons of proper decorum for a prince then darted around a corner into what looked like a dead end displaying an old set of armor. Pressing a code into the bricks behind the display, a door opened in the wall just wide enough for Tarvek to squeeze through into the darkness. 

* * *

 

Gil followed their guide through the twists and turns of Sturmhalten Castle, filing the route away for future use. The room they finally entered appeared to be a grand ballroom with high ceilings, polished marble floors, and walls covered in rich tapestries illustrating the history of the Storm King. A dozen gas-lit chandeliers covered in shimmery crystals bounced light all around the room giving it a more festive feel than Gil thought appropriate for a political summit. The room was empty save for long tables lining the walls and several men standing at the head table.

The Baron marched right to the men and gave a curt nod to the stout man in the middle. “Aaronev, it is good to see you again.”

“Klaus, you’re looking well. I hope the trip was uneventful.”

“Indeed.”

Gil’s eyes flicked between the two as they continued their pleasant but obviously forced small-talk. He wondered if anyone liked his father considering all the barely contained hostility they’d encountered on their tour of the Empire.

“And this is the new apprentice I’ve heard so much about?”

Gil snapped to attention and bowed low. “Gilgamesh Holzfäller–it’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness,” he said in the measured tone he’d practiced for hours.

“And so polite. Wherever did you find him?”

“Yes, he shows great promise.”

Gil could almost swear there was a trace of pride in the Baron’s words, but then it was gone as he described finding Gil in a barn, orphaned in another Spark breakthrough gone awry that got the typical sympathetic condolences from the Prince. Gil hated this ruse–he was tired of pretending to be nobody, but more so, he was tired of being denied by his own father. He crushed the bitterness down, responding with all the correct phrases until a horn sounded, startling him and signaling the beginning of a procession of dignitaries from across the  _Pax Transylvania_.

Gil managed to survive the hour-long receiving line saying all the right things and bowing to all the right dignitaries, and all without losing any buttons from his clothing. As they took their seats behind the head table, a young girl about Gil’s age slipped through the main door and made a b-line directly towards them.

She had long red hair, pulled into a swirling tail that hung over one shoulder and wore a startling blue dress. She curtsied respectfully as she approached.

"I’m here, father,” she whispered.

The Prince nodded at the seat next to him where she sat, gathering ink and papers in front of her–all with an effortless smile.

Her father leaned close, features drawn tight. “Where is your brother?”

“I’m not sure, Father. No one has seen him since this morning.”

“A problem, Aaronev?” the Baron asked?

The Prince glowered but recovered easily. “Of course not–this is my daughter, Anevka, she’ll be filling in for my son this afternoon.”

Gil smiled at the princess then felt his entire face flush in embarrassment before turning away. When he chanced another look, Anevka was grinning at him.

She looked so much like Tarvek it unsettled Gil more than a little so he focused on his own papers and pretended to be busy paying attention to the meeting that quickly got underway once everyone settled.

* * *

Three hours later, Gil could no longer feign interest in the proceedings and took to doodling in the corner of his paper much to his father’s dismay by the look on his face when he stood to make his speech.

Gil could only muster the good apprentice act for another twenty minutes after that before a caricature of the Baron joined the doodles in the corners getting a tinkling laugh from Anevka. Gil blushed again and tried to look more studious and less like a dumb fourteen-year-old–he rather figured he failed spectacularly by her continued giggles.

Anevka surprised him then by sliding a slip of paper across the empty seat the Baron had abandoned. Gil carefully opened it and barely contained the laugh at the much less flattering likeness of his father she’d drawn.


	3. Chapter 3

He checked to make sure no one was watching then carefully added some speech bubbles around the drawing before casually slipping the paper back to her.

She snorted softly, scribbled something else then passed the note back, lower lip caught between her teeth to keep from smiling.

This went on of most off the Baron’s impassioned, but ultimately, boring address.

At some point, Anevka gave up any pretenses of paying attention and slid into the Baron’s seat to be next to Gil. “Might you have some ink I could borrow,” she said, just loud enough for her father to hear.

Gil doubted the Prince believed the excuse by the low huff he gave before returning his attention to the proceedings. Nevertheless, Gil pushed the inkwell between them as they both pretended to take notes, their drawings becoming more and more absurd as time and boredom wore on.

The Baron eventually came to his final remarks, necessitating Anevka return to her original seat, but she continued to make faces at him behind his father’s back, much to Gil’s delight–maybe if Anevka stuck around the summit, things wouldn’t be as bad as he’d worried.

That thought soured the mood because he knew he’d have to face Tarvek eventually–there was no getting around it.

After what seemed like an eternity where his emotions bounced from elated to anguished, the morning’s meetings came to a close and the apprentices were dismissed to an adjoining room for lunch.

Gil was out of his seat before his father could even gather a lecture, strolling over to Anevka with a shy grin.

“I’m Gil,” he said, holding out his hand like they hadn’t spent the last four hours goofing off together. “Your Highness,” he added respectfully if a little late.

She giggled, hand over her mouth. “Please don’t do that–it’s just Anevka. Don’t you find titles just so stuffy and dreadful?”

His grin slid from his face. “Uh, I guess?”

Anevka missed his discomfort as she continued to rant about life in the royal court and never getting to be her true self, but he managed to shove the smile back on his face when she turned towards him again.

“Don’t you think?”

They barely made it into the gathering room before they were accosted by a pint-sized red-head wearing approximately a kilometer of pink taffeta and too much of her mother’s perfume.

“Anevka!” she shouted, grabbing the princess’s arm and dragging her away from Gil.

At the last second, though, Anevka snatched his elbow, hauling Gil with them on what turned out to be a wild ride through the rumor mill of Empire royalty.

“Can you believe Cecil had the nerve to show his face here after what he did to Gretchen,” the girl whispered loudly enough for several passers-by to shoot her curious looks. She pulled Anevka closer. “And look at what Vivica is wearing–is that silk? In this weather?”

Anevka managed to untangle herself from the younger girl’s claws. “Seffie, what even are you doing here? This luncheon is for apprentices only.”

Seffie’s jaw dropped then her eyes narrowed. “You’re not an apprentice.”

Anevka didn’t fall for the bait. “I’m filling in for Tarvek at the moment. Besides, this is my house–I can go wherever I please,” she said calmly.

Seffie looked as if she wanted to argue, but seemed to finally notice Gil still hanging from Anevka’s arm. “Who’s this,” she purred which coming from a girl that looked no more than eleven was more than a little disturbing, but Gil forced a smile on his face.

“Gilgamesh Holzfäller, miss,” he told her with a gallant bow that got an approving giggle from Anevka.

Seffie practically glowed from the attention, fanning herself dramatically and batting her long eyelashes that had to be fake.

Anevka laughed again. “Gil, this is my cousin, Seffie von Blitzengaard–feel free to ignore her since she doesn’t belong here.”

Tarvek hadn’t talked much about his family when they were kids other than to say they were all crazy, dangerous or both–Gil had a feeling that Seffie, as young as she was, fell into the “both” category and didn’t need anyone to tell him the best course of action was to stay far away.

Unfortunately, Seffie had other ideas. She sidled up to Gil, taking his other arm, and gazed longingly at him in a way that made his skin crawl.

When extraditing himself from her grip proved futile, he shot Anevka a pleading look, but she only rolled her eyes–Gil had a feeling he’d fallen into some kind of trap.

* * *

Tarvek waited until only his father remained in the Great Room before slipping out from behind one of the tapestries. Everything would have been fine even if he’d been a little late, but when he’d peeked out at the receiving line, his heart stopped at the one person he never thought he’d see again.

Gilgamesh Holzfäller.

In his castle.

The shock kept him safely ensconced behind the tapestry as he watched his boyhood friend meet-and-greet representatives from the Fifty Families like he was born into the world. And the dignitaries accepted him as one of their own.

An unwanted flare of jealousy surged through him followed by an even more appalling swell of protectiveness–these were the same people that shunned Gil his entire life, and now, they treated him like he always belonged.

He let the anger roll over into the memories of betrayal, of being forced out of Castle Wulfenbach, of the abuses he’d sustained since returning home. That felt better.

He’d been about to join the meeting, but then, Anevka hurried in to take his place which wouldn’t have been horrible except he had to watch her flirt–flirt!–with Holzfäller

The whole affair made him sick and angry and frozen in fascination at the way Gil smiled and blushed over whatever they were whispering about, opening up space for that pang of jealousy again.

 _That’s my friend_ , his brain screamed even as he chastised it–“he hasn’t been your friend in a long time if he ever was.”

Finally, the meeting ended his agonizing as Gil dashed off after Anevka leaving Tarvek more than a little confused over his unwelcome emotions. “Useless things,” he mumbled as he approached the head table where his father stood, glaring at some papers.

He took a deep breath. “Father-”

Tarvek’s words faltered at the sight of his father’s seething rage then Aaronev backhanded him hard enough to snap his head around.

“How dare you make a fool out of me in front of the Fifty Families, the Baron, the entire Empire. I am not a fool.”

Tarvek blinked back tears and gently pressed a hand to his cheek.

“I apologize, father–I was detained.”

“Detained by what?”

He couldn’t very well tell his father he’d been rescuing his Smoke Knight from a bully–that would just get them both into trouble so he chose the closest thing to the truth.

“I was working on an experiment in my lab and lost track of time.”

His father huffed, but his blind fury cooled at the thought of his son laboring away in a lab.

Technically, it was the truth–Tarvek had been in his lab working but not on any experiment or project his father would approve of and that was hours ago. It was a good excuse, though, as his father had impatiently been waiting for Tarvek to break through and prove the Spark ran strong in the Sturmvoraus family.

“Any progress?”

“I think I’m close,” Tarvek said carefully, not wanting to upset his father further. “The ideas and plans are making more sense–like they’re on the edge of my peripheral but I can’t quite make them out.”

This seemed to satisfy him. “It’ll get clearer with time and then one day it will be like you never actually understood color before that moment.” He clapped Tarvek on the shoulder with a genuine smile.

Tarvek let out a soft breath, relaxing slightly as his father’s anger diminished. “Did I miss anything of import at the opening ceremony?”

His father’s eyes darkened. “Only Klaus patting himself on the back for bringing peace to Europa as usual.” He picked up some papers. “Your sister did quite well at your job, you know. I might have made a mistake when choosing an apprentice–no one said the heir had to be a male. I think I’ll keep her around.”

Tarvek’s jaw dropped, but before he could respond, his father turned away with a wave. “You’re dismissed.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did his father just replace him with Anevka because he was late for one meeting? He wouldn’t–not after all the work and training Tarvek had been doing since he came back home over five years ago.

He slammed his mouth shut, spun on his heel and marched out of the Great Room seeing red. This was unacceptable and he would do something about it. First, he’d find Anevka and then he’d make her–make her step down, yes.

Then he’d force her to tell Father she’s not at all interested in being his apprentice or taking over the kingdom.

His steps faltered.

Unless she is.  _What if this is a plot_? He wouldn’t put it past Anevka to try to weasel in on his crown. Tarvek shook his head. No, that’s ridiculous–Anevka wouldn’t do that, and besides, the Lightning Crown belongs to a male heir; that was just fact.

 _Right_?

His pace slowed further as he continued to contemplate this train of thought, but in the end, the only thing he could be sure of was that he could never be sure of his sister’s motives, and surprisingly, that settled him–it was familiar and understood.

He let out a breath. There was no point in worrying about Anevka usurping him at the moment–all he could really do was get back in his father’s good graces and that meant being the best apprentice.

That brought his forward motion to a complete halt. Charging into the gathering to angrily confront Anevka would not help his cause in any way. He needed to remain calm and in control of his emotions and the situation–like a real King.

Tarvek changed directions, heading back to his bedroom for a change of clothes and maybe a calming sip of the brandy he’d liberated from his father’s liquor cabinet after a rather arduous training session in the lab.

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in front of his massive armoire in his unbuttoned trousers and undershirt, a snifter of brandy in one hand and a silk shirt in an understated lavender hue hanging from the other.

He considered the shirt for a moment then sipped his drink, feeling the blessed relief of the spirits washing away his earlier tension and misgivings. Of course, Anevka wouldn’t make a move against him–just last week, they’d sat together in this very room getting drunk on brandy and peppermint schnapps and giggling like they’d been school children over something ridiculous Martellus had said. Tarvek snorted at the memory, took another sip then put the shirt back, instead choosing one in a deeper shade–better, more commanding.

Nearly forty minutes and half a decanter of brandy later, Tarvek flattened down his collar and adjusted his sigil, nodding at his reflection. “Very good,” he told himself with a dignified smile–well, an attempt at dignified; he might have gone a little too hard on the brandy.

He repressed the rising snort of amusement, tugged his shirtsleeves taught then nodded again before turning on his heel. He could do this–he was going to be Storm King and he wouldn’t let Anevka or Holzfäller ruin that for him.

Especially Holzfäller.

Gil meant nothing to him so wouldn’t be a problem at this summit, at all. Tarvek grimaced at the sheer lie that threatened to crush him. 

* * *

The luncheon for the apprentices was set up buffet style with a long catering table staffed by a dozen attendants in black slacks and white shirts along one wall and a variety of round and rectangular tables in the center of the room. Groups of sofas and chairs in the corners allowed for lounging, menial chit-chat and the normal wheeling and dealing that took place at these sorts of things even among the children.

Gil sat squished between Anevka and Seffie in one of the corners, securing a small sofa for themselves.

“And that one there with the unkempt red hair is our cousin Orrik Avantgarde–of course, Avantgarde isn’t their real last name; they just think they’re being clever but they’re not fooling anyone.”

“Seffie, my dear,” Anevka said with a grin, “they all have unkempt red hair; it’s kind of a family trait.”

Seffie giggled, but Gil figured out who she’d been talking about easily enough. Orrik was a hulk of a man, his ginger hair sticking out at odd angles, wearing a horribly clashing royal purple greatcoat and burnt orange trousers–he looked mean and irritable even from this distance.

“Of course, he wanted to be a Smoke Knight but just couldn’t hack it,” Seffie continued. “Too big and slow to be sneaky. And dumb.”

“Seffie,” Anevka scolded, smacking the younger girl’s hand.

“So, he talked Uncle Edvard to take him on as apprentice–he’s about as good at that as he was at being a Smoke Knight.”

“What’s a Smoke Knight?” Gil asked suddenly, surprising even himself after not saying anything for a solid thirty minutes while Seffie prattled on.

“They’re our personal guard,” Anevka explained. “Most come from certain branches of the family tree, but others are recruited or come from their own long lines of Smoke Knights in service to the family for generations.“

“So you all have these bodyguards?”

“Most of us,” said Seffie. “At least the important people.“  
Gil’s eyes darted around the large room looking for hidden crevices and dark corners.

Anevka shook her head. "You won’t find them if you look–they pride themselves on being invisible.”

“But they are here, right?”

Both Anevka and Seffie looked around thoughtfully. “Probably some of them,” said Anevka, “but we’re relatively safe inside the castle so most of them are probably off doing other things.”

“Like what?”

“The usual–training, training, more training, and spying,” answered Seffie with a devious grin that left Gil feeling suspect of her apparent innocence. Her smile suddenly faded, though, and Anevka stiffened next to him, setting Gil immediately on edge.

Seffie forced another smile on her face. "And the dumb looking ape heading our way is my brother, Martellus. Don’t get on his bad side.”

Gil had a feeling he’d already found Martellus’ bad side by the way the older boy scowled as he stalked over.  _Great–been here four hours and already have two enemies. The week was looking better and better._

Anevka hopped up–her sudden absence causing Gil to topple over into her vacated seat and for Seffie to fall over into his lap.

Martellus looked homicidal.

“Tweedle,” Anevka said, placing a hand on his chest. “You’re looking a little overheated–you might see to getting some air, dear cousin.”

“Out of my way, Anevka.”

Gil pushed Seffie away and sat up. “Tweedle? You’re called Tweedle.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him; he didn’t remember having a death wish but the fact that this supposedly scary boy was called Tweedle of all things struck him as overly amusing, and he needed a good laugh today.

Now Seffie jumped to her feet just as Tweedle grabbed the lapels of Gil’s coat, hauling him to his feet.

“Martellus,” she said under her breath, “not here–you’ll get in trouble.”

Tweedle glanced around at the few curious onlookers they’d caught the attention of. “Good call, Seffie. Let’s go.”

He dragged the unstruggling Gil from the room into an empty hallway and slammed him against the hard, cold stone wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my sister?”

“Martellus,” Seffie said, rolling her eyes, “stop–we were just talking like everyone else.”

Tweedle ignored her, focusing all his rage on Gil, giving him another good shake.

Gil straightened, shoving Tweedle’s hands from his coat then flattening the lapels, taking his time like he didn’t care that the older boy was breathing fire down his neck. “I wasn’t doing anything–just talking like she said.”

Anevka placed another hand on his arm. “Think before you act, cousin–this is the Baron’s apprentice.”


	4. Chapter 4

About half a dozen emotions flitted across Tweedle’s face at that news before he settled back to his barely contained rage.

Gil refused to back down for the obvious intimidation tactic he knew well from his childhood. He brought himself up to his full height which was still nearly a head shorter than Tweedle, chin held high and a practiced, indifferent expression plastered on his face.

Finally, Tweedle stepped out of Gil’s personal space and dusted the front of Gil’s jacket like he was straightening out the wrinkles Gil had already fixed. “The Baron, you say? I heard a rumor about you.”

Gil cocked one eyebrow under his fringe of bangs and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which one?”

“That you’re the orphaned son of homicidal Sparks that went on a rampage, and the only reason you’re an apprentice is the Baron feels sorry for you.”

Gil wanted to laugh–as if his father would give such an important job to someone out of pity. Instead, he shrugged as if the words didn’t bring back loathsome memories. “Close enough.”

As expected from habitual bullies, Tweedle looked even more annoyed that he didn’t get a rise out of Gil, but he recovered quickly. He took two menacing steps towards Gil and shoved a finger in his face. “Baron or no, I don’t care who you are, if I catch you around my sister again-”

Seffie interrupted him with a swat on the back of his head. “Martellus, no. Bad brother.”

She grabbed Tweedle’s rather large and solid forearm and tried to drag him away which had the effect of her trying to move a train until she pinched him in the side.

He didn’t say anything else as he finally allowed his sister to pull him down the hall, but he did smack Gil’s head into the wall one last time for emphasis.

Gil rubbed the back of his head as he watched the von Blitzengaard siblings round the corner then glanced at Anevka. She had her face in her hands.

“I’m so sorry about that. My family is–embarrassing.”

“Aren’t they all?”

She looked at him through her fingers then dropped her hands with a dry laugh. “I guess you’re right and my family has the market on humiliating twisted branches cornered.”

“I don’t know–Seffie seemed okay.”

“Well, you don’t know her like I do,” she said with a grin. “Come on, there’s still time before the summit reconvenes.” Anevka slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, leading him down the hall opposite the way Tweedle and Seffie had disappeared.

Gil looked over his shoulder. “I don’t think we’re supposed to leave the luncheon.”

“They won’t even notice we’re gone. Besides, you’re with me and this is my home.”

Gil had a feeling the Baron would not accept that excuse, but he continued to follow Anevka farther into the castle, memorizing the route just in case.

They took two lefts, a right, went up a flight of stairs, two lefts then right, left, right before going down a very narrow spiral staircase lit by something glowing on the walls. Fascinated, he reached out to touch the substance, but it contracted into itself with a  _pip_  causing a cascade of lights going out up and down the stairs.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Anevka laughed. “Don’t worry–they’ll light back up if we’re quiet.”

Sure enough, the walls began to glow softly a moment later until they were back at their original brightness. Gil leaned closer to get a better look; this time without touching. “It’s a fungus–that glows.”

“Pretty, isn’t it? It grows in the mines all around Balan’s Gap–the miners use it instead of gas lamps or candles with the added benefit of it processing just about every toxic substance into oxygen so-”

“No chance of sudden asphyxiation–a light source and air scrubber in one. That’s brilliant.”

Anevka smiled then tugged him along. “Well, I can’t take credit for creating the things, but I did bring them up here and plant them along the walls in some of the lesser used passageways that are too troublesome to keep lit with gas lamps or wire for electricity.”

“This was your idea?’

She ducked her head and despite the green glow, Gil had the distinct impression she was blushing which made him feel a little light headed.

They got to the bottom of the stairs when Anevka suddenly turned to him, eyes twinkling in the shimmery light. “If you like plants, you’ll love the arboretum,” she said, guiding him to the left. “We have hundreds of specimen from all over the world–Mother used to get dreadfully sorrowful during the long winters so Father brought the tropics to her. It’s all very romantic.”

Gil coughed then started choking before nearly tripping over his own feet.

Anevka tried to hide her giggles behind her hand but didn’t do a very good job. “I’m kidding, Gil.”

Gil let out a breath, face blushing fiercely.

Anevka pinched a cheek. “Aren’t you just adorable.”

He tried to smile, but he suddenly felt uncomfortably aware of their isolation. “Where even are we?” he asked after they passed numerous unadorned and presumably locked doors.

“The East Wing or as it’s affectionately called, the ‘Fire Mountain’ Wing.”

“Why do you call it that?”

Anevka just smiled as they spilled out into a large, open atrium–the glass dome soaring at least ten meters above them–and covering every wall, a mural depicting the surrounding mountains burning.

“Pretty, huh?”

Gil’s eyebrows shot up–‘pretty’ was not the word he’d used to describe it.

Terrifying, morbid, twisted–those worked better, but he just nodded, not that she was paying any attention to him anymore.

She twirled around the center of the room, face turned up to the dreary sky beyond the glass. "This is my favorite room in the entire castle.

You should see it during the sunrise and set–the whole room is ablaze of reds and oranges thanks to the special glass.” Her eyes looked a little on fire themselves when she glanced back at him. “The flames in the murals seem to dance, and you can almost feel the heat.”

“Uh, that sounds-”

She continued to dance, oblivious to his awkwardness.

He needed to move things along because Anevka was seriously creeping him out right now. “So, you said something about an arboretum?”

She stopped abruptly then grabbed his hand at a run. “I almost forgot–we don’t have much time before we have to get back.”

Gil let out a sigh, allowing himself to be dragged along again. This girl was going to give him whiplash, and it reminded him of his father’s numerous lectures on the evils of women that Gil mostly ignored because he thought the theories were just his father’s way of coping with being bad at relationships. Maybe he wasn’t so wrong after all.

A minute later, they dashed under an arch adorned with angels of some sort and through a set of glass doors.

The air inside was humid and you swam through it more so than walked, and everywhere you looked were plants and trees and more plants–the ground, the walls, hanging from the ceiling, growing in planters.

“Wow.”

“You like it?”

Gil could tell this was important to her so he nodded, not that it was a lie or anything; the place was amazing.

“Come on, I’ll show you my favorite spot.” Anevka reached her hand out to him, wiggling her fingers in invitation.

Gil had a feeling he was going to regret spending so much time alone with this girl, but she was nice and a princess so he could hardly refuse. Besides, it was kind of nice having the attention on him for once and not have it involve fists and stolen food.

He pushed those thoughts away, took Anevka’s hand and followed her through the maze of tropical trees and flowers until they came to a clearing near the center where the largest tree towered over the others, its’ branches heavy with long strings of leaves reaching to a little pond at the base.

“This is the best spot for picnics,” she said, flopping onto the ground and patting the soft grass next to her.

Gil scratched the back of his neck as he looked around, unease growing in the pit of his stomach. “It’s getting kind of late–don’t you think we should go back?”

Anevka threw herself back, her red hair splaying around her face, contrasting with the dark green grass. “You know, you remind me of my brother.”

Gil sucked in a sharp breath. “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, you know–you’re both concerned with following the rules and being responsible.”

That’s how she saw him? Responsible? Gil mulled that over while Anevka continued to ramble about the garden and what having fun actually meant. He considered how it felt to be compared to Tarvek so easily and cluelessly.

As a kid, he probably would have puffed up with pride if someone thought he was like Tarvek who was smart and resourceful and brave, but what would Anevka think if she’d been on Castle Wulfenbach with them when they were skipping classes and sneaking around in restricted areas?

The thought made him smile–sure, Tarvek was always the voice of reason when they planned their adventures, but he never stopped them and came up with more than his own share of stupidity.

“What’s that grin for?” Anevka asked, breaking into his reverie.

Gil schooled his features. “You really think I’m like your brother?”

She cocked her head, considering the question. “No, I suppose not much–he’s way stuffier than you. He’s always studying and playing by the rules to get ahead. I can tell already that you’re a lot more fun–Tarvek would have never doodled during a meeting.”

Gil hoped his disappointment didn’t show too much.

Anevka didn’t seem to notice. “You’ll see when you meet him later. Come, sit with me.”

She patted the ground next to her, her expression way too innocent to be authentic–Gil didn’t like it. “We really should be getting back,” he said, taking a step towards to exit. “I don’t want to make the Baron mad.”

* * *

Violetta balanced on a branch in one of the great trees in the arboretum watching her cousin and the Baron’s apprentice chat. Since she’d been following them, she’d learned his name was Gil, he was lying about being an orphan, had zero experience with girls, probably spent most of his life on Castle Wulfenbach by the awed way he stared at the foliage, and obviously already knew Tarvek even if Anevka seemed oblivious to that fact.

And he was surely keeping other secrets that Violetta was eager to discover. She was tired of people like Martellus always underestimating her. She could do this job–she could be a good Smoke Knight if they just let her try.

Down below, Gil took a step away from Anevka. Violetta swiveled to keep him in sight, her foot sliding from the edge of her branch. The whole tree swayed and she scrambled for a better grip, cracking several twigs in the process. She finally steadied, holding her breath as Anevka looked around suspiciously then she got up, dusting off her skirt.

"Yeah, you’re probably right; we should get out of here,” she said, holding her hand out to Gil who reluctantly took it, following her out of Violetta’s eyesight.

The girl slowly let out the breath with a groan. “I suck at this,” she mumbled, tears filling her eyes while she quickly slid down the tree trunk. “Can’t even spy on my own stupid cousin.”

She gave herself a full minute to wallow then sniffled and wiped her eyes with the corner of her cloak. She couldn’t keep following Gil–Anevka was on to her now–so she left through the opposite door into a darker, cooler corridor that was only used in the summer months.

Consumed by her thoughts, Violetta almost missed the voices growing louder as she walked towards them. At the last second, she darted into a corner and used a technique to blend with the shadows, staying absolutely still without so much as blinking her eyes until the people passed.

She let out the breath she’d held too long and followed after the three older boys–Martellus; that oaf, Orrik; and one of the assistants brought by a distant uncle controlling a nearly non-existent kingdom in the north. She tiptoed behind them, darting between shadows, trying to keep up–all thoughts of Gil and Anevka fading from her mind at the mystery before her.

Somewhere in the back of her head, Tarvek’s voice whispered that this is the kind of thing that would get her killed, but like the real boy, she ignored it as always–Tarvek never had any fun.

They took several turns and staircases, including a hidden one, making Violetta wonder how well Martellus knew the castle when he didn’t live here full time–she barely even knew where they were and only did because of the scorch marks on the walls.

This hall led to several abandoned labs. Abandoned by people, at least. The accident that nearly took out a quarter of the wing released quite a few unruly monsters that wreaked havoc for days before they were forced back into the labs where they were left to rot–no one smart came over here anymore. So of course, Martellus was here; he was one of the biggest idiots Violetta knew, and too full of himself to know any better.

Eventually, she got close enough to catch their conversation while Martellus consulted a ring of keys in front of a very impressive oak door covered in more locks than seemed necessary. He was actually going to the labs– _idiot_.

“Martellus, where are we even going,” Orrik whined as he leaned against the wall looking sleepy.

“It’s a surprise,” her cousin answered, finally finding the first key.

“I don’t like surprises,” said the other boy who looked a little older than Martellus–maybe in his early twenties and still pockmarked with acne that his scraggly beard couldn’t hide.

Three more locks were undone followed by a steel bar across the entire door. “Relax Warner, will you?”

Both Orrik and Warner contained any other complaints as the last lock fell off and it took all of Martellus’ strength to pry it open–they didn’t look very happy about any of it. The door creaked open, and Martellus stepped aside to let the other two through.

Violetta needed to get through that door but there was no way she’d be able to open it on her own–she needed to think fast. She quickly pried free a chunk of battered wall and tossed down the hall, catching Martellus’ attention.

As soon as his head shot up, she bolted for the door using another Smoke Knight technique that was supposed to shield her from view even up close. She’d only learned it a month ago and wasn’t sure she could even do it correctly yet, but she skirted past her cousin and slid into the shadows of the room beyond where the other two boys were arguing softly.

Not seeing anything, Martellus closed the door, blanketing them in absolute darkness, causing Warner to squeak in surprise.

“I don’t like the dark any more than I like surprises.”

Martellus lit a match and pulled a candle from a shelf near the door.

“Oh, shut up,” he commanded, shoving between the other two towards a dark set stairs at the far end of the room–these led to the labs in the bowels of the castle.

The three were silent as they descended which made it harder for Violetta to follow without being heard. When they reached the bottom, Martellus opened another heavy door that led to another staircase–this one only a few steps long. The complaining started up again as soon as they got to the bottom and realized the room was filled with over a foot of water.

“I don’t like water,” Warner muttered.

Martellus ignored him, marching through the room with purpose.

Violetta hurried to stay within sight of the dim candle but paused at the bottom of the stairs. She had no fear or general dislike of water, but this water had an oily gleam to it and smelled foul–like rotting eggs. The surrounding room showed the obvious signs of the devastation from the explosion and ensuing battle.

Chunks of walls and ceilings poked above the water and broken furniture floated in the boys’ wake, but the lab tables along the edge of the room looked sturdy and intact if more than a little worn. Violetta stuck to these, hopping from table to table to stone blocks to barely stable shelves–anything to stay above the water and out of sight.

“What was that!” Orrik yelled suddenly. “Something touched my leg.”

Warner glanced around at the mostly placid water. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, really, I felt it.” Orrik’s voice continued to rise in pitch.

“You’re imagining things–it’s just water.”

Violetta perched on a crooked chandelier as the boys argued beneath her, but her attention was on the water.

Martellus had stopped as well, spinning slowly to shed his light on the surrounding room. The water glistened green and purple but nothing moved. “Keep moving,” he ordered, putting everyone in motion again.

Violetta swung the chandelier enough to hop to a beam hanging at an angle on the opposite wall then to an equally cockeyed shelf that nearly gave out under her weight.

The idiots were making enough noise not to notice her presence much to her relief. They continued through a heavy metal door blown nearly off its hinges into a bigger lab where the main explosion must have taken place by the nearly complete destruction of the contents–nothing was untouched by fire or left unbroken which left Violetta with a lot fewer choices when moving.

“There it is again,” Orrik screeched, his voice echoing in the large space and causing everyone to freeze.

Martellus swung the candle in an arc around them showing placid water except where Orrik churned it up with his nervous dancing. “Knock it off, idiot–you’re scaring Warner.”

“I’m telling you there’s something in the water.”

Martellus growled in frustration. “I swear, you whine more than my little sister. Now get your heads in the game.”

Warner still watched the water warily. “But I heard there were monsters under Sturmhalten, and we are most certainly under Sturmhalten.”

“Why are we even down here, Tweedle?” asked Orrik. “I thought you said we were going to work on the plan.”

Violetta’s ears perked at this new information. A plan? What plan? What were these idiots up to way down here with the monsters other than being monsters themselves? Her mind swirled with intrigue but stayed alert enough for other clues.

“We are,” Martellus said, his annoyance growing. “We just need one thing.”

“What’s that?” Orrik asked, inching closer to Martellus but never taking his eyes from the water.

Martellus fiddled with a dented and rusted cabinet in the corner until he pried open the door with a loud squeal of twisting metal. He pulled out a bottle of iridescent liquid with a triumphant smile stretching across his weasely face.

“And what’s that?” asked Warner, peering over Orrik’s shoulder to get a better look.

“Just something my great-uncle cooked up–right before he cooked himself,” he said glancing around the destroyed lab with a chuckle.

He left the cabinet door hanging open and trudged back towards the stairs, Orrik and Warner muttering behind him. Violetta didn’t need to know what was in the bottle to know it was bad news–it was made by someone in her family and locked in a lab destroyed by Madboy experiments and monsters.

What she did need to know was what they were planning on doing with it because her imagination ran wild with the possibilities including plagues and mind control. You just never knew with her family.

She quietly followed them back up the stairs, hiding in a dark corner while she figured out how to slip out without being seen which ended up not being a problem because as soon as Martellus shuffled the others out, he wheeled around and tore Violetta from the shadows.

“You just never learn, do you?”

“Damn,” Orrik yelled from out in the hall, “look at the time, Tweedle.”

That was enough to get Martellus’ attention and give Violetta the seconds she needed to escape in a less violent method than she’d originally optioned for which would have probably led to one less future Blitzengaard heir.

She did a quick twist maneuver with a practiced ease that made her heart pound with glee. Before Martellus knew what was going on, she dropped from his grasp, grabbed the bottle from the pocket in his coat and darted out the door–all Martellus found was the broken remnants of a chair wrapped in a piece of tapestry with a dirty mop for a head.

“Violetta!”

She didn’t stop to hear what curses her cousin threw at her–she knew she couldn’t outpace him in a foot race which meant she needed to get sneaky. And fast.


	5. Chapter 5

Her heart thrummed in her head as she tore through the castle using every secret passage she knew.

It drowned out all other sounds including her labored breathing and her feet slamming against the polished stone floor which also meant she didn't hear Martellus gaining on her until it was too late. His arm reached around her middle, lifting her right off the floor as she kicked and flailed.

"You little brat," he hissed in her ear, breath hot and stale from running. "Give me the bottle, Violetta, and we'll pretend none of this happened.

"Why? What are you going to use it for?"

Martellus laughed. "Why would I tell you that? So you can go tattle to Tarvek. They're so cute at this age." He tweaked her nose just as the other two idiots trotted up, breathing hard from their snail's pace jog.

"Get rid of her, Tweedle," Orrik said, "she knows too much already."

Violetta struggled harder, twisting every direction, but Martellus' grip iron, and the more she fought, the tighter he squeezed her until she couldn't catch her breath.

"I'm not going to have to do that, now am I, Vi? You're going to be a good girl and hand over the bottle and not tell anyone about this and then we're all going to go on our merry way, right?"

She glared over her shoulder at him but knew her options were limited so she calmed her struggles until he relaxed his grip some.

"Good girl, I knew-"

Then she bit his hand until she tasted blood. Martellus screamed, dropping Violetta who landed in a full run, tossing a smoke bomb behind her for good measure.

"Get her, you idiots!"

His minions weren't as fast as Martellus, but their much longer legs still gained quickly on her. She bounced off the wall at the end of the hall and dodged through an open door into a sitting room.

She hopped the back of the sofa, bouncing onto the coffee table then to the chair using her momentum to tip it and roll out the other door back onto her feet.

Orrik and Warner tripped and banged their way through the unfamiliar room like ogres on a rampage, breaking furniture on the way--Uncle Wilhelm was going to be mad.

Violetta bolted down the corridor, sliding into an open area on the other side of the castle and right into strong arms. Instinct kicked in as she fought back before she actually took a look at her attacker. Gil frowned at her until she quick struggling then set her on her feet; Anevka blinked wide, round eyes at them.

"Violetta, what's going on?" she asked, finally recovering from the shock of nearly being run over by the tiny girl.

Violetta glanced over her shoulder and bit her lip--she could confess or run, running being the smarter option.

"More family?" Gil asked.

"Another cousin--she's not supposed to be here."

Violetta crossed her arms, scowling at Anevka as fiercely as she could muster. "I live here."

"Smoke Knights are forbidden from the summit."

Violetta snarled, but Gil put a hand up, stopping the argument before it could spill from her lips.

"Wait,  _she's_  a Smoke Knight? I thought you said they were your bodyguards?"

"There's more to it than that--they're also often bound to us at birth."

Gil looked horrified. "Like a slave?"

"I'm not a slave," Violetta shouted, face nearly as red as her hair.

Anevka shrugged. "She's still in training and shouldn't be here where she can be seen."

Violetta was two seconds away from kicking her cousin in the shin when she heard footsteps pounding up behind her.

"YOU!"

She managed to dart out of the way seconds before Tarvek slammed into Gil, sending them both tumbling across the floor. They landed with Tarvek pinning Gil to the ground.

"It's always you," he yelled as he brought his fist down on Gil's face.

Anevka screamed then started smacking Tarvek on the back which did nothing to distract him from his purpose. Gil took one, two, three blows before he managed to wiggle his arms free and block the fourth, blood already gushing from his nose and busted lip.

Violetta had no idea what was going on, but she knew she needed to stop Tarvek before he did something monumentally stupid--that was part of her job. Before she could act, though, familiar strong arms crushed her chest again.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast."

"Let go of me," she yelled, kicking at Martellus' knees.

"If you want to help dear cousin Tarvek, you're going to have to give me the bottle."

Violetta growled as her mind raced through her options as limited as they were.

The two boys rolled across the floor, nearly taking Anevka with them, this time Gil ending up on top. He grabbed Tarvek by the lapels and slammed him down hard enough to knock his glasses free, but Tarvek caught the other boy off guard by bringing a foot up into the back of his head, sending him flying head over heels.

Anevka wheeled around on them, face as red as her hair. "Will you do something?" she shouted at Martellus.

Martellus tightened his grip on Violetta and laughed. "I am. I'm giving three to one odds on the runt putting Tarvek in his place--any takers?"

Orrik and Warner laughed along with him while Anevka stomped over and smacked his arm which only made him laugh harder.

"Martellus!"

"Fine," Violetta said through clenched teeth after Gil landed a punch to the gut, doubling Tarvek over long enough for Gil to kick him to the ground and land on top of him again. She pulled the bottle from her cloak and shoved it into Martellus hands even as he was letting go of her.

She charged into Gil, slamming him into the wall and was back on her feet before Gil knew what hit him. 

He shook his head, looking around in confusion.

Violetta got between the two as Tarvek got to shakey legs, ready to take another shot at Gil. "Stop it," she yelled at him, hands scrambling to get a grip on his coat, but he was so much bigger than her. "Tarvek, enough."

"This is all his fault!"

* * *

Tarvek trembled with barely contained rage as Gil stood there looking dumbfounded.

"My fault? What did I do?"

Tarvek lunged for him again but tripped over Violetta, sprawling across the floor, forcing Gil to hop out of the way. She stood over him, hands on her hips with that disapproving look that reminded him of his grandmother so much shame flushed his face.

He rolled to his back with a defeated breath and stared at the detailed fresco of mostly naked ladies playing in a river adorning the ceiling.  _Why do we even have that?_

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his jumbled thoughts--what was he doing again?

"Tarvek," Anevka yelled, stomping her foot next to his face. "What is wrong with you?"

Gil reached a hand out to help him up, but Tarvek smacked it away, allowing Violetta to drag him to unsteady feet instead

Anevka wrinkled her nose, taking a step back. "Have you been drinking?"

The shame deepened as he glared at his boots--it wasn't like him to lose control.

Ever.

Martellus and his idiot friends snickered from across the room while Gil scratched the back of his head looking awkward and bewildered. Tarvek sighed, rubbing at his burning eyes--was he crying?

Violetta shoved his glasses into his hands with more force than necessary, irritation rolling off of her in waves that chilled his skin. He didn't know what to do now or what to say which disturbed him because he always had a plan, was always three steps ahead of the game.

He had to be in their family or he'd be eaten alive, but the fight left him out of his element, feeling ashamed and confused over his irrational actions.

"Tarvek," his sister said softly, moving between him and Gil, "are you all right?"

He nodded without answering, not trusting his own voice or ability to not say something stupid he'd regret later.

In the distance, a horn sounded.

Martellus snorted. "Not that this hasn't been positively entertaining, but we have business to attend to. Good luck explaining that," he added, gesturing towards Tarvek with a smug expression before sauntering off, his minions trailing behind.

Tarvek gingerly touched his lip, his fingers coming away slick with blood. He ran his tongue over the wound then wiped away the rest with this sleeve before finally glancing at his victim who looked much worse with bruises around his eye and blood dribbling from his nose and busted lips.

Gil still hadn't said anything--he just stared in disbelief until he realized Tarvek was watching him then quickly looked away.

Anevka let out a long breath. "Come on, we better go talk to father before we're even more late--he's already angry with you for missing the meeting this morning."

"I know," Tarvek mumbled, falling into step beside her.

Gil trailed behind them, still unnervingly silent; Violetta was nowhere to be seen.

"I really can't believe you, Tarvek," Anevka muttered. “Drinking, fighting--that's not like you. And why? What did Gil ever do to you?"

The anger pressed against his chest again as memories flooded his mind--if she only knew.

_Gil running away in tears despite Tarvek's calls of reassurance._

_Being dragged out of the vaults to the Baron's office._

_The look on Gil's face--anger and mistrust--that sent a sharp pain of fear and disappointment through him._

_Gil, his best friend in the world, the only person he ever trusted, ratting him out with no signs of remorse just seething animosity._

_Leaving behind the one place he'd ever felt at ease back to the turmoil and abuse of his family._

Tarvek shoved the thoughts far back in his head where he'd kept them locked up for the last five years. "You wouldn't understand," he mumbled, hunching his shoulders in a useless attempt to shelter his fragile emotions.

"I wouldn't understand? Maybe if you told me what was going through that thick head of yours I could try."

"Just drop it, okay."

Anevka threw her hands up in the air. "I will never understand boys--you're all idiots."

She stomped off, leaving Tarvek behind with Gil, his anger already beginning to boil up again. He wheeled around, forcing Gil to stumble back. "Are you just going to stand there?" he shouted.

Gil blinked at him. "What do you want me to say?"

_I'm sorry._

The words bounced around Tarvek's head, but he bit them back, instead only glaring at his ex-friend.

Gil crossed his arms defensively. "You were the one that attacked me--I didn't do anything."

Tarvek clenched his fists, ready to deck Gil again. "I can't believe you. You come into my house and like nothing happened, like you deserve to be here, like you belong in this world." He took a step closer, jaw tight, eyes hard. "We both know that's not true--you don't belong anywhere, Holzfäller ."

The words had the desired effect as hurt flashed across Gil's bruised face before it was replaced by burning fury. "You think I want to be here?" Gil hissed, shoving Tarvek back a step. "You think I wanted to come here and deal with this?" He motioned between them. "That I wanted to listen to you insult me like the spoiled brat you are and always have been."

Another shove knocked Tarvek to the ground while Gil loomed over him, eyes blazing. "I don't want to be here," he said through gritted teeth, voice trembling eerily. "I told the Baron this was a bad idea."

Another step had him nearly on top of the startled Tarvek as he scrambled back.  _What was wrong with him?_

Gil kept coming. "You have no idea what I've been through. You don't know me at all," he shouted.

* * *

Fury raged through Gil's veins as he stood over Tarvek, watching the panic spread across his features as he realized what Gil already knew--he had all the power right now.

And he liked the way it felt.

He promised himself a long time ago he'd never let anyone hurt him again--physically or otherwise--especially know-it-all, spoiled princes, and he didn't have to take the abuse.

Tarvek's eyes widened as Gil raised his foot over Tarvek's chest, but before he could act on the pent-up resentment, hands crushed his arms, dragging him back. They didn't let go as he tried to jerk free--to lunge at Tarvek.

A soldier stepped between them, and Gil was suddenly aware of the shouting around him, of the guns raised in his direction, of the danger he was in. He sucked in a sharp breath as the blazing white rage subsided, letting the muted colors of reality settle back in his vision.

His father's words buzzed in his head-- _“The same passion that fuels the Spark often intensifies other emotions, and you must learn to restrain them lest they overwhelm your reason.”_

_What had he done?_

Swallowing hard, he looked past the soldier at Tarvek's hardened stare and quivering body. Gil couldn't tell if he was shaking with fear or anger--probably both. Either way, Gil was in so much trouble.

He hung his head and didn't resist as the guards marched him through the corridors, past the dining hall and ballroom to a large office where Prince Aaronev waited, obviously already informed of the events ahead of their arrival.

_So much trouble._

The guards tossed him to the ground at their feet like a sack of potatoes which is about how the Prince looked at him--like he was worthless. It was about how Gil felt at the moment.

The lead soldier stepped forward. "We found him attacking Master Tarvek, Your Highness."

Gil pushed wearily to his knees and stared up at the reddening face of the Prince.

"How dare you," the Prince sputtered before turning to his son, giving him an equally scathing look. "Tarvek, is this true?"

All heads swiveled towards the younger prince who shifted his weight uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Well?" Aaronev demanded.

Tarvek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Before he could answer, though, the doors flew open, the Baron marching in followed by Barkley and another suspiciously intimidating assistant.

His eyes immediately fell to Gil still kneeling. "What's the meaning of this?"

"That's what I'd like to know, Klaus. I was under the impression that this was a peaceful summit, is it not?"

The Baron's gaze shifted to the Prince. "But of course."

"Then explain to me why your apprentice tried to assassinate my son? I suppose it was all in the name of  _peace_?" He spat the last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Gil's jaw dropped.  _Assassinate_?

To his credit, Tarvek looked just as bewildered. "Father," he started, but was interrupted by the Baron, calm and composed and emotionless as always.

"Is this true, Gilgamesh?"

"What?" Gil said, voice cracking with indignation. "Of course not!"

The Baron simply raised a questioning eyebrow that managed only to enrage Gil further--did he not believe him?

"Liar!" shouted the Prince, growing even redder. He stepped forward in a flash, slapping Gil hard enough to send him to the ground and bring the sting of tears to his eyes that he furiously blinked away before pulling himself upright again. "I warned you, Klaus, about using riffraff like this as an assistant. They can't be trusted. Unless this is your plan--disposable assassins."

"Father," Tarvek tried again through clenched teeth but went ignored as his father raised his hand to strike again.

The blow never came.

"That's enough of that," the Baron said, his hand wrapped tightly around Aaronev's wrist. "Let the boy speak in his defense."

"There is no defense."

"Father," Tarvek shouted, finally getting their attention just as a side door crashed open as Anevka spilled in, dragging a disgruntled Martellus behind her.

"Gil didn't do anything," she said between breaths. "Tell them, Tweedle."

The older boy shrugged. "I didn't really see much."

Anevka smacked his arm, getting another amused shrug. She growled and shoved past him to the center of the room. "Gil is innocent," she insisted.

Aaronev pointed furiously at Tarvek's bruised face. "So you're saying he did that to himself?"

Anevka's mouth opened and closed like a little fish, her eyes darting to her brother then the floor. "Um-"

The Prince huffed in triumph. "Arrest him."

"I didn't try to kill him," Gil yelled as the soldiers reached for him.

Anevka jumped in front of him, hands on her hips. "Tarvek started it. He attacked Gil for no reason."

Tarvek's eyes fluttered shut as he let out a soft breath.

The Prince looked from his daughter to his son to Gil and then back to Tarvek--you could practically see the steam erupting from his ears.

"Gilgamesh," the Baron said with deadly calm, "do you have anything to add?"

Gil locked his jaw and glared--at his father, at the Prince, and finally at Tarvek who had managed not to make eye contact with Gil once since they arrived in the office. If they thought Gil was going to tattle like a five-year-old, they were sorely mistaken--he'd learned his lesson a long time ago.

They all waited for one of the boys to say something.

Gil wished he knew what Tarvek was thinking. Was he going to confess with what little integrity he must possess? Or insist Gil was to blame in which case, Gil figured the Prince would side with his son even over Anevka's protests.

Maybe he just wasn't going to say anything at all.

Gil's blood threatened to boil over the longer Tarvek stayed silent--they all might get to see a murder after all.

The Baron cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him. "Prince Tarvek, if Herr Holzfällerstruck you then speak up as we should like to know."

Gil glared daggers at his father, but Aaronev huffed.

"If, Klaus? It's pretty obvious that he didn't do that to himself," he said jabbing his finger at Tarvek.

"That does not mean Gil did it," the Baron said, still without an ounce of emotion.

How does he do that, Gil wondered. How does he stay so calm when Gil might explode at any moment? The look his father sent him made him believe his father knew exactly how short his fuse was and that he better get himself under control.

"Answer the Baron's question, Tarvek," the Prince commanded.

Tarvek looked like he might be sick as he swallowed hard before opening his mouth slowly. The entire room leaned forward to hear his side of the story, collectively holding their breath.

Say something, Gil screamed inside his head.

Then Tarvek belched. Loudly. Several of the guards sucked in sharp breaths while Anevka groaned and Tweedle snorted behind a fist.

The Prince grabbed a fistful of Tarvek's shirt and shoved him back a step, getting right into his face. "Are you drunk?" he spat. When Tarvek didn't answer right away, the Prince shook him hard.

"Only a little?" he mumbled already cringing away from this father's coming wrath.

Prince Aaronev sputtered, his face shades darker than Tarvek's hair--if he'd been angry at the thought of Gil fighting Tarvek, he was downright livid now.

"There," the Baron said, taking a step towards the enraged father and hapless son. "Just a misunderstanding, I'm sure."

The look he gave Gil said he better not disagree with that assessment. Gil nodded with determination despite the growing anger in the pit of his stomach--not even sure who he was more mad at anymore.

"Of course," he said through gritted teeth, "a misunderstanding. He probably mistook me for someone he actually knew--I have that kind of face."

He ended with a smirk in Tarvek's direction, finally getting the other boy's attention. His stomach instantly knotted at the confusion and despair he saw there, and he hated himself for reacting that way. Hadn't Tarvek just beaten him senseless for no reason? Why did Gil care if Tarvek was in trouble with his father anyway?

The anger built--again he wasn't sure where to focus it--Tarvek, his father, himself?--it was too confusing for his pummeled brain.

Anevka chose then to slip between her father and brother to probably smooth things over. Gil strained to hear what they were whispering, but it was useless and really none of his business.

Since no one was paying any attention to him anymore, he slowly got to his feet, side and knee aching from the fight. The Baron stood before him, hands clasped loosely behind his back--the perfect example of calm--but his eyes blazed with a fury Gil recognized easily. He was in so much trouble.

The Baron turned then to address the Prince. "Are we through here, Aaronev?"

The Prince only waved them away--no comment, no apology for slapping Gil and nearly having him arrested.

Figures, Gil thought as they exited, his father's hand firm on the back of his neck, and tightening with every step.


	6. Chapter 6

The soldiers filed out after them, most setting off in different directions while two took up guard positions on either side of the office door. Gil turned towards the summit room where he could hear the curious voices of the other attendants but his father’s grip nearly stole his breath, forcing him in another direction.

“But the meeting,” Gil protested as he was guided down another hall with guards now stationed every ten meters.

“Barkley will be assisting for the rest of the day.”

“But-”

They turned the corner to the guest wing, one of their attendants seeing them coming and opening the door. The Baron shoved Gil into the room; Gil nearly tripping over his feet. He stumbled into a settee then spun just as his father released his pent up disgust.

“What were you thinking?” His voice hit octaves Gil had never heard before.

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You said-”

His father grabbed his hands roughly, pulling them up his face. “This says otherwise.”

Gil glanced at his raw knuckles, two spit and bleeding–or maybe that was Tarvek’s blood–then quickly found something else to stare at.

His father dropped his hands in annoyance. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Gil fought back the lump in his throat. All the years of trying to prove to his father he was worth something–worth his time and attention. And one afternoon with his rival destroyed that little bit of trust he’d built through all of those experiments and procedures. He shook off the feeling of helplessness and anger.

“Well?”

All of his reason fled under his father’s disapproving scrutiny allowing only one thing to escape. “He started it,” Gil said to his feet feeling six-years-old again and knowing the instant he said it that it was the wrong thing.

His father growled. “Unacceptable.”

Gil sighed. “I know–I tried to stop, to not engage, but-”

His father only watched him, waiting for a proper explanation. There was no point in lying. “I told you this was a bad idea–Tarvek hates me. He attacked me for no reason.”

“No reason?”

“I swear–I was only talking to Anev- I mean the Princess.”

His father’s eyebrow shot up the same moment Gil realized his mistake; he was supposed to be observing at the luncheon, not exploring the castle with Anevka. Gil sighed, slumping against the sofa and carefully rubbing his sore face–there was no talking his way out of this.

“This was a peace summit and you are an official representative of the Empire. I expect the utmost attention to protocol-”

“I know; I’m sorry.”

“You’ve embarrassed the Empire with your behavior. I’m disappointed.”

Gil winced at some of the harshest words he could ever receive from his father.

“Herr Victori,” the Baron called into the sitting room, getting the attention of an older gentleman whose job was officially to keep files. The man approached, wary of the Baron’s ill temper.

“Yes, Herr Baron?”

“You will make sure Herr Hozfaller remains in our quarters for the rest of the afternoon.

He will stand at attention until I return–maybe that will teach him some discipline.”

Gil’s eyes snapped up to his father’s. He wanted to shout and scream and demand to know why he was being punished for doing nothing but defending himself and his reputation, but he bit his tongue and straightened his back, chin high.

Victori glanced between them, obviously uneasy with the tension and his task. “Of course, Herr Baron,” he finally said.

His father paused at the door, studying Gil like he had something else to stay but only frowned before leaving Gil standing at attention for the next few hours.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Tarvek said for the fifth time since everyone had fled his father's mounting wrath–not that anyone noticed any more than the first four times.

His father and sister stood on either side of him shouting their disappointment at him and each other and the world but mostly about him like he wasn’t even in the room. The noise was making Tarvek ill.

He took two steps away before his father grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him back hard. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I just need to sit down,” he said meekly, the room starting to spin.

“Unbelievable.”

A knock on the door ended the rest of his father’s rant. He let go of Tarvek with a shove, sending him stumbling on unsteady legs, regaining his footing and straightening his shirt just as his father called, “enter.”

One of the servants poked his head in looking more than a little nervous as his eyes darted around the room. Tarvek wondered how much he had heard–the rumors would be lighting through the castle like that fungus Anevka grew.

“Yes,” barked his father, making the servant jump.

The man cleared his throat and entered fully, standing tall. “The summit, Your Highness–the other delegates-”

His father huffed. “Yes, yes. Tell them I’ll be there in a moment. Has the Baron returned?”

“Not as yet.”

“Well, there’s that,” he muttered then turned to his children, face less red but eyes still blazing. “Anevka, you will accompany me through the afternoon’s meetings.”

Anevka nodded. “Of course, Father.”

“Tarvek-”

Tarvek swallowed hard before forcing himself to meet his father’s hard, disgusted stare.

“Go get yourself cleaned up–I’ll deal with you later." With that, the two swept out of the room, the servant scampering after them.

After the door slammed shut, Tarvek let out a long breath and slumped against the desk with a groan. "What have I done,” he mumbled.

He took several minutes to center himself before finally sneaking out the side door into the private quarters of the royal family. Inside his room, he collapsed onto his bed, head swimming. The clothes he’d gone through earlier were still spread out around him, and the mostly empty bottle of brandy sat on the bedside table where he’d left it.

In a sudden surge of anger and self-loathing, he rolled off the bed, grabbed the bottle and slammed into the wall across from him, barely noticing the shower of glass that pelted his legs before dropping to the floor, head buried in his knees.

* * *

 

Violetta watched from the corner as her cousin crumbled, silently sobbing as he hugged his legs to his chest. She’d rarely ever seen Tarvek lose his cool even when he’d get hurt during training–she’d always tried to be just as calm although she rarely lived up to that dream. 

Seeing him fall apart scared her more than it should and tore at her heart which was even more wrong. Empathy was weakness and Smoke Knights didn’t have the luxury of being weak.

Something slick slid down her cheek, plopping onto her cloak. She wiped at her face, fingers coming away slick with blood; she found several other small cuts around her eye. Shaking the remaining shards from her cloak, she stepped out of the dark to stand in front of Tarvek–he’d wallowed enough.

“Martellus is up to something,” she said matter-of-factly.

Tarvek sucked in a shuddering breath but didn’t look at her. Had she actually managed to surprise him?

It took him a moment to get himself together before he let his head fall back against the bed with a sigh. “When is Martellus not up to something?”

Violetta ignored Tarvek’s tear-stained face as she joined him on the floor, close enough to offer support but not touching. She wanted to ask if he was okay but that was too close to caring so instead she said, “what are we going to do about him?”

Tarvek sighed. “Why do we have to do anything?”

“Because he’s up to something.”

“Violetta-” His words cut short as he finally looked at her, his eyes growing wide before shifting to the broken bottle inches from where she’d been hiding. Just as quickly, he averted his gaze, staring at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

Violetta frowned at the broken glass then at Tarvek’s shoes then at him before shrugging as her only reply.  _Why was he sorry_? He was the one to teach her about feelings and weakness and control.

“About Martellus,” she said, trying to refocus his attention.

That seemed to work as Tarvek hopped to his feet, thrusting his hands through his tangled hair. “I have more important things to worry about than whatever stupid plot Tweedle is up to.”

“But this is important. He-”

“Enough!”

Violetta jumped up, hands on her hips and right in Tarvek’s face. “What is wrong with you? You always told me to watch him and report any suspicious activity.”

“And earlier I told you to stay away from him–he’s dangerous, and I don’t have time to keep you from getting hurt.”

Anger bubbled up from a well deep inside that she fought constantly to keep capped. She launched herself at Tarvek, slamming into his back, nearly taking him to the ground. “I don’t need you to protect me–I can take care of myself like I always do.”

“Fine, go take care of yourself somewhere else.”

They glared at each other for long seconds before Violetta broke, spinning away before he could see the tears blurring her vision. She shouldn’t be upset at him yelling at her, she told herself. It’s not like they were friends.

Technically, Violetta worked for Tarvek and his family–she was a servant just like all the other cowed subjects in the castle, but Tarvek had never treated her like that–not when it was just the two of them alone. But in the end, she was just a Smoke Knight sworn to protect the family and ultimately expendable.

 _So why did his rejection hurt so much_?

With a swish of her cloak, she disappeared into the darkness before she did something stupid like demand to know why Tarvek was being such a jerk.

* * *

 

Gil’s back and shoulder’s ached from standing at attention for so long.

He could hear the clock ticking on the mantle behind him but refused to budge no matter how much Victori fretted and insisted he wouldn’t tell.

This day just got worse and worse like he knew in his gut it would from the moment he learned of the summit. 

“Should have listened to me,” he muttered, getting the older man’s attention. Gil bit his lip, raised his chin and continued to stare at the door, waiting for his father to return. He would show him–Gil had discipline. He wasn’t a disappointment.

The word bounced around his head fueling an alternating current of anger and regret. Maybe he was a disappointment. Maybe that’s why his father kept him hidden for so many years, why he was still keeping him a secret, not for his safety like he said. Maybe he’s always just been a face–another puppet to the Empire–here to serve his purpose and nothing more.

Gil sucked in a breath, holding it until his lungs burned. This line of thoughts never ended anywhere healthy.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a rest?” Victori asked for the hundredth time, glancing at the door then back to Gil. “A snack perhaps?”

Gil let the breath out slowly but didn’t acknowledge the man. It’s not that the thought Victori was trying to get him in trouble. On the contrary, he thought the man only trying to be helpful and understanding, but Gil’s pride was much stronger than his discomfort.

 _Pride_ –one thing he definitely got from his father. The thought almost made him laugh as his lips curled into a slight grin that seemed to unnerve his nervous guard.

Victori wrung his hands before picking up a glass of water. “Maybe you would-”

Before he could finish, the door to the room flew open, letting in a loud group including the Baron, Barkley and several Sturmhalten servants that arranged a quick tea. Once the servants left and the Baron’s attendants were seated around the table, Gil’s father finally addressed him, hands held lightly behind his back like this was any other day.

Gil kept his eyes straight ahead which left them staring at a button just below the collar of his father’s shirt–it had a little Wulfenbach emblem on it.

“Follow me,” he said after a moment, brushing past Gil and into the adjoining bedroom suite.

Gil let out a soft breath, spun on his heel and ignored the pointed stares of the others in the room. His father waited then shut the door behind them before collapsing with a sigh onto a small sofa set at the end of the bed. Gil waited, confused, while his father rubbed at his face.

Was his father actually tired? Showing weakness? The incongruity of that spun his head around–maybe the world was coming to an end.

With another sigh, the Baron shifted, patting the spot next to him. “Come, sit, Gil; we need to talk.”

 _Yep, the world was definitely ending_.

He cautiously joined his father on the sofa, keeping his distance in case it was some kind of trick–he wouldn’t put something like that past him. When nothing happened, Gil leaned forward slightly and asked, “are you well, Father?”

This seemed to snap the Baron out of his thoughts. “It’s been a long day.”

Gil nodded. “It has.” Longer than Gil wished to dwell on, mostly because he had to dwell on Tarvek, and he wished to keep his old friend as far from his thoughts as he could. It was proving more difficult than he thought after everything that happened.

"Have you had enough time to consider your behavior today?”

Gil cringed then fell back against the sofa in a slouch that rumpled his heavy coat. His father simply waited, arms resting on his knees–Gil knew there was no getting out of this conversation or lecture.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “It’s not like I meant for all of this to happen. I warned you-”

“Ah, this is about your behavior; do not try to shift blame to someone else.”

Gil glared at his father, fighting back angry words that would do his cause little good until he could no longer hold the older man’s steady gaze.

“What lessons have you taken from today’s events?”

 _I should have listened to my gut and stayed on Castle Wulfenbach._ Not that he could ever say that so he sighed. “I should have stayed at the luncheon instead of running off with Anevka like I was supposed to.”

_Then I probably wouldn’t have encountered Tarvek._

His father let out a breath. “The Princess is trouble as much as her brother ever was if not more–the entire family-”

“I know, I know; you’ve mentioned it a time or two,” Gil interrupted with annoyance. “We were just having some fun.”

Reaching into an inner pocket of his coat, his father pulled out a folded sheet of paper that revealed several very unflattering drawings and mismatched scribbled comments. Gil groaned, sinking even further down in the sofa as his father snorted in apparent amusement.

“I think you need to work on your technique,” he said, dropping the paper on Gil’s lap.

Gil picked it up, stared at Anevka’s neat penmanship then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket across the room.

His father laughed again which Gil found more than a little unsettling.  _Klaus Wulfenbach has a sense of humor?_ _Who knew?_

“Gilgamesh,” the Baron said, sitting up a little more seriously, “I know your experience with young ladies is somewhat limited by your circumstances-”

“Ugh,” Gil yelled, shooting to his feet, “it wasn’t like that at all. We were just talking. I was- I was gathering intel like you said.”

The look his father gave him said he didn’t believe that for a second forcing a furious blush to heat Gil’s face and neck. He dropped back onto the sofa, face buried his hands.

His father patted his shoulder with another snort. “When we get back home, we’ll have to talk more about this–women are-” He paused considering his words. “Complicated.”

“Father, please,” Gil moaned.

Another laugh, another pat and his father got up. Retrieving a case from a bureau across the room, he opened it on the bed behind Gil. Before Gil could fully turn to see what his father had, something sharp stabbed him in the neck.

He fell back, holding his neck and blinking as the room spun a little. “What was that?”

His father held up a syringe of glittery purple liquid and squirted a small amount out of the tip. “Inoculation,” he answered before capping the needle.

Gil blinked even more furiously. “Inoculation for what?”

“Oxfam’s Hypnotosia–Barkley did say it was going around.”

Gil shook his head which just made his neck hurt more. “The clucking disease?”

His father just continued to return things to his case as if Gil wasn’t freaking out a meter away from him.

“Why didn’t you get one then if it’s so contagious?

"I don’t need one. Now go get ready for supper.”

“Supper?” Gil asked, dropping the subject of then inoculation knowing full well his father would never elaborate on anything.

His father placed the case back on the bureau just as Barkley knocked on the door then poked his head in nervously. “Yes, supper,” he said, stopping Barkley with a hand up so he could finish with Gil. “We’re eating with the royal family tonight, and you will be on your best behavior. None of this feud nonsense from earlier. No excuses,” he added when Gil opened his mouth to protest.

With that, the conversation was over and the Baron was waving Barkley into the room. Gil snapped his jaw shut, clenching it tightly to refrain from saying something else he’d regret.

 _Why doesn’t he ever listen_ , Gil wondered as he marched down a short hallway in the suite to his much smaller room that, thankfully, had a private bath. He tossed his coat on a chair, not bothering to worry about wrinkles and discarded his waistcoat and shirt on the bed as he made his way into the bathroom.

“He never listens–nobody every listens,” he told his reflection which glared back at him until Gil let out a long sigh, dropping his head. “Story of my life,” he mumbled.

 _Until Tarvek_.

The thought hit him like a steam engine, stealing his breath. Before then and since, he’d screamed and yelled and begged to be seen, but no one ever paid him any attention. But Tarvek had listened to his ideas, had wanted to know more, wanted to talk about everything. Tarvek had cared right up until Gil messed it all up and lost the only friend he’d ever had.

He sucked in a long breath then let it out slowly, pushing all the memories into a corner of his mind to hopefully never think about ever again. He knew that was a lost cause the second he thought it because he had to face Tarvek at supper and for the rest of the summit; it was going to end badly no matter how well he behaved.

But then there was a part of him that wanted Tarvek’s attention–any kind of attention was better than silence and glares filled with loathing and anger. He hated himself a little for being so desperate and pathetic. It’s not like he could ever fix things with his ex-friend. How do you even apologize for a betrayal of that magnitude?

“You can’t,” he whispered then shook himself out. The whole line of thought was pointless–he needed to focus on surviving the rest of the week but more importantly, surviving supper.

Despite his resolution to not think about Tarvek or their history, his mind kept wandering back to it while he cleaned himself up and got dressed in his clean, fancy clothes that he hated. Give him work pants and a lab coat any day.

God, he missed the lab.

Ever since his father dragged him into this apprentice farce, Gil hadn’t had any time to be in his lab–the one good thing that ever came out of those events six years ago. Another pointless train of thought derailing his focus tonight.

With another sigh, he fixed the top button of his shirt and secured his Wulfenbach sigil, straightening it in the mirror, surprised by the burst of pride it gave him to wear the stupid thing. Silly really since all Wulfenbach employees wore one, but Gil was a Wulfenbach which mean it was his sigil for whatever that was worth.

“Gilgamesh,” his father called from outside the door.

“Coming,” he shouted back as the small smile slid from his face. He straightened his shoulders and forced a neutral expression because Wulfenbachs never showed emotion if they could help it, at least that’s what Gil took away from his father’s constant calm.

In the main room, Barkley and the other attendants hovered around the Baron nervously, some still giving reports from their day of probably nefarious activities.

His father shot him a disapproving look then headed to the door without a word.

 _Great, already in trouble and not even at the supper yet_. It was going to be a long night.

Outside their suite, a guard waited, snapping to attention as soon as the door opened. “Escort,” he said making it clear this wasn’t optional.

His father nodded, letting the guard lead the way and showing none of the annoyance Gil was having a difficult time hiding as he trailed behind the two.

His stomach knotted the farther they got from their quarters. He tried to memorize the way the same he did while exploring with Anevka but kept getting distracted by the feeling the paintings on the wall were watching him. Knowing the castle and the family that lived here, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were being watched from portraits. The idea creeped him out and he hurried to catch up with the others.

* * *

 

Tarvek sat slumped in the chair in his room where he’d been since Violetta left him feeling alone and full of guilt for how he treated her.

 _Why had he said that_?

Out of everyone in his life, Violetta was the only one he could trust–the only one that didn’t seem to have ulterior motives or sinister plots to exploit him like the rest of his family including his father and sister. Violetta actually cared about him which, unfortunately, was a weakness that needed to be flushed out of her if she was going to survive.

He ran a hand over his face, wincing at the bruises.  _Could this day get any worse?_

“Probably,” Anevka said from the doorway startling him out of his morose thoughts. He blinked at her with a frown getting a snort from her.

“Yes, this day can probably get worse, especially if you’re in this funk at supper where Father will be watching you like a hawk.”

Tarvek slouched down further, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with a groan. “I said that out loud?”

Anevka laughed again then sat with a flourish on his bed where she picked up one of his discarded shirts between two fingers, tossing it to the floor.

“You need to get dressed.”

Tarvek knew this.

“And cleaned up–you look like you were kicked by a cranky mule.”

He knew this too but only sunk deeper into the chair until he was nearly falling out of it. “Close enough,” he muttered into his chest.

Anevka clucked at him. “This is your own doing, dummy. What were you even thinking attacking the Baron’s apprentice? And don’t blame the, what is this?” She sniffed at the glass beside his bed. "Brandy? Is this the stuff we stole last week?” Her fond smile only managed to anger Tarvek even more.

“You don’t understand,” he said, suddenly jumping up to pace across the room, his boots crunching over shattered glass.

Anevka played with her dress, spreading the flowing green skirt out around her. “What don’t I understand?”

Tarvek ground his teeth as he ground the glass under his heel, suddenly remembering the blood on Violetta’s cheek. His eyes darted to the dark corner behind the door–had she been standing there when he threw the bottle? His stomach dropped out.

“Tarvek, honey,” his sister said, reminding him very much of their mother, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He couldn’t bear to look at her, afraid she’d see the shame scorching his skin. He could have killed Violetta; he could have killed Holzfäller if Violetta hadn’t intervened–she was always looking out for him.  _Because it’s her job_ , a little voice whispered, but he didn’t believe that not after the hurt she’d tried to hide when he’d dismissed her like any old servant. What was wrong with him?

“Tarvek?”

He turned slowly at Anevka’s alarmed tone. She eyed him warily, fingers playing with the ruffles of her dress–the style was from last season and the color clashed horribly with her hair, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her. He shook his head clear before facing her fully, his shoulders falling in defeat.

“What don’t I understand, little brother?” She reached her hand out to him and he took it greedily, needing her care and attention like a child needed a mother and Anevka was as close to a mother as he had.

“Holzfäller and I-" He paused, considering his words. "We have history.”

“How? We just met him today.”

Tarvek cringed knowing he’d have to tell her now or she’d never let it go.


	7. Chapter 7

With a defeated sigh, he sat next to her on the bed, careful not to wrinkle her dress.

“Talk to me Tarvek,” she whispered, squeezing his hand in support.

He remembered this from when they were little–huddled together in the corner of his room or under the covers of her bed after their mother had died taking what little solace they could find in each other. He swallowed hard. 

“Remember when I was on Castle Wulfenbach.”

She tensed. “I remember they stole you away in the middle of the night.”

Tarvek rolled his eyes–like Anevka hadn’t been jealous he’d been chosen over her because everyone knew being held hostage by the Baron was the place to be; it meant you were someone important or would be someday.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t their prisoner for long was I?”

“No, I suppose not. You were pretty quiet when you came home and never wanted to talk about it. Father was angry.”

 _Boy, had Father been angry_ , Tarvek thought–being sent home in disgrace like that. His punishment had been discreet but intense; he shivered thinking about it but regained his composure quickly under Anevka’s watchful gaze.

“So what happened?” she prodded after a moment.

“I got in trouble.” He glared at his scuffed boots. “Or more precisely, Holzfäller got me–got us–in trouble.”

Anevka raised one perfect eyebrow. “I’m going to need more than that if you want me to hate Gil along with you.”

“I don’t want you to hate him,” he said without thinking, getting a knowing look from his sister. He frowned at his shoes again and played with a tear in his trousers he must have got in the fight. The memory of Gil standing over him looking more than a little crazy and raging about not wanting to be here helped direct his thoughts back to the topic.

“See,” Anevka said, bumping his shoulder, “you do need me to hate him. With you or for you is yet to be determined,” she added with a bubbly laugh.

Tarvek glared at her. “I don’t need you to hate Holzfäller for me; I can hate him quite enough for myself.”

“I can tell after that fight.”

He let go of her hand feeling too exposed all of a sudden. He knew she wouldn’t understand.

Before he could get up, though, she tugged his sleeve and gave him an apologetic look. “I’m only teasing and I shouldn’t–that wasn’t very thoughtful. Please continue with a list of Gil’s offenses so we can brainstorm forms of acceptable retaliation.”

“Ugh,” he said, hopping to his feet, “I’m being serious, Anevka. Holzfäller is bad news, and I don’t want you hanging around him.

This got an eyeroll. "I’ll decide that for myself if you just tell me what happened for Gil to deserve such wrath–he seems really sweet.”

Tarvek narrowed his eyes. “Well, he’s not; he’s a duplicitous, backstabbing snitch, and the reason I got sent home.”

“Quit being so dramatic,” Anevka said with a dismissing gesture, “that’s Seffie’s department. Sounds like you’re pretty hung up on him after all these years if you ask me.”

“Well I didn’t ask you, and I’m not hung up on anything besides his betrayal.”

The two stared at each other until Anevka finally sighed, looking away then patted the bed beside her. “All right, tell me what actually happened, and we’ll figure something out together because in less than an hour you have to sit across from him for an entire supper if you can handle that.”

Tarvek sat next to her again but refused to take her hand, instead, crossing his arms over his chest “I can handle it just fine,” he grumbled.

“Good,” she said, patting his knee then tucking her legs under her, “now spill it; I want to know everything that happened on that blasted ship.”

He ignored the gentle ribbing implied in her tone, took a deep breath, and let it all out–everything that happened before and during that night and after he got home. Well, everything except the important stuff like figuring out who Gil really was and maybe how it was Tarvek’s idea to sneak into the vault in the first place.

He thought it would feel good to finally tell someone but he only felt drained and deflated at the end.

Anevka leaned back on the bed, letting out a long breath, her face scrunched up in thought. “Are you sure about this?” she finally asked.

Tarvek shifted away from his sister out of frustration. “Am I sure that the kid I thought was my friend completely betrayed me and ruined my life?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what  _did_ you mean?” He sounded surly even to his own ears and fought to rein in his irritation.

Anevka got up with a little spin that fluttered the skirts of her dress before facing him looking sympathetic but skeptical of his motives which wasn’t anything unusual. “I’m just saying that doesn’t sound like Gil.”

This time Tarvek rolled his eyes nearly out of his head. “You don’t know him at all.”

“And you haven’t seen him since you were eight so how do you-”

“Whose side are you on, Anevka?” he nearly shouted causing her to stumble back.

Her expression softened as she stepped towards him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Your side, of course, brother, as always.”

Tarvek doubted she was ever one hundred percent on his side, but it still felt good to hear the words. His shoulders relaxed some as Anevka tugged him in for a hug, her hand running up his neck to pet his head–something else she must have learned from their mother in their short time with her.

He sighed, burying his face in her neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve been awful today.”

“Oh, you’re awful all the time, you’re just more self-aware when you’re drunk,” she said, hugging him closer.

Tarvek tried to push away with a groan, but it only made her grip tighten until they were both laughing at the struggle. When she finally released him, he let out a long breath and with it fled the anxiety and confusion from earlier.

Anevka smiled then reached for his face “Look at you, all grown up,” she said, playfully.

He smacked her hand away but couldn’t stop his own smile. “Shut up–I probably look awful.”

“You do, but I still love you. Now let’s get you cleaned up before supper or Father will have another fit.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” he muttered, following Anevka into the bathroom where she started to run water in the sink.

Tarvek made the mistake of looking in the mirror as he unbuttoned his shirt–the person staring back looked nothing like him with his bloodshot eyes, bruised cheek and bloody lip. He didn’t even remember Gil hitting him in the face, but it all happened so fast and was so confusing. He sighed again then let Anevka do her mothering thing–she loved taking care of Tarvek for some reason.

After a good thirty minutes, she had him washed, groomed and wearing enough face gunk to cover the bruises and cuts. “How am I supposed to smile in this stuff–I feel like I have ten layers of lead paint on my face.”

Anevka giggled. “Do you think I look this good naturally?” she asked, blinking her eyelashes dramatically.

Tarvek frowned at her flawless skin and sculpted cheekbones. “Where are your freckles?”

She laughed even harder. “You are ridiculous–boys know nothing of what it takes to maintain that which they love to look upon.”

“Ick,” Tarvek spat. “I don’t want to know about why guys are looking at you.”

While Anevka returned her makeup to a small bag she carried, Tarvek carefully picked out a shirt in a mauve silk, sighing as the soft material slid over his skin. What knowledge he lacked in cosmetics, he made up for in his formidable knowledge of attire. He paired the shirt with trousers and jacket of deep purple with gold piping and buttons.

Anevka came from behind to straighten his sigil then patted his shoulders with a smile into the mirror. “There, all fixed up. No one will know you were a drunken bully an hour ago.”

“Gee, thanks for ruining the effect,” he mumbled getting a bigger grin.

* * *

 

Violetta slipped into one of the secret passages, leaving Tarvek and Anevka to get all sibling mushy. Her own siblings never treated her with anything but ridicule and contempt because of her size and lack of ability as a Smoke Knight so she didn’t understand her cousins’ affection or behavior towards each most of the time.

At the least, it made her uncomfortable, and at the most, it made her unjustifiably jealous. Or maybe it was a little justifiable when she tended to consider Tarvek more of a brother than any of her own even though, deep down, she knew she shouldn’t–it was dangerous as Tarvek always pointed out and led to nothing but heartache.

She growled at her unfiltered and unwanted thoughts as she navigated the pitch-black tunnels with the expertise that only came from years of practice avoiding bullies and creepy uncles. She cleared her mind of familial dissatisfaction to focus on her current mission–seek and destroy one Gilgamesh Holzfäller.

After several turns, Violetta hauled herself up into the recently installed ductwork that came with the new heating system and crawled along the ceiling of the largest library in the castle, coming out the other side over a hidden lab, past that through several sitting rooms occupied by various summit members and back into a tunnel, cutting her arrival time in half.

She smiled at the thought that not many Smoke Knights could use that particular speedy method; her size came in handy sometimes. 

Another turn and a squeeze through a busted section of wall found Violetta in a long gallery filled with paintings of the Storm King and the Shining Coalition among other artifacts supposedly from that time. The important part was she was near the guest quarters where she knew the most important summit members were housed, including the Baron–all she had to do now was locate the scoundrel and-

Violetta ducked behind a bust of Andronicus as voices approached the room. She immediately recognized the Baron’s commanding voice talking to someone in the corridor then a lone figure entered the room, his young face highlighted by the torch near the door.

What luck–just the person she was looking for, she thought, watching Gil inch farther into the room to look at the collection. She quietly pulled a vial from her cloak along with a dart. She wasn’t allowed any of the more potent or dangerous poisons Smoke Knights used, but she still had a few tricks up her sleeve using what she had.

Not really caring about the dosage in her thirst for revenge, she loaded the dart with truth serum, and as soon as Gil got close she took her shot, hitting her mark square in the neck.

Gil stumbled back and yanked the dart out, staring at it then looking around. “What the-” he said, words slightly slurred as he continued to sway unsteadily.

Maybe she used too much serum. Oh well, not her problem. With that thought, she jumped out from behind the bust, nearly scaring the older boy half to death.

“Now it’s time for you to talk,” she said as she shoved him into a dark recess.

“What are you doing?” His words were less garbled now.

“Why are you here?” Violetta demanded.

“What?”

Gil blinked furiously like he was trying to clear his thoughts more than his vision.

“Why are you here?” she repeated, standing on tip-toes to get as close to his face as she could.

He took a step back, connecting with the wall. “What are you talking about?” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Wait, you’re that kid Smoke Knight that hit me earlier–what is your problem?”

“I’m doing the interrogating here, buster.” She emphasized each word with a poke to his sternum that forced him back against the wall each time until he finally swatted her hand away.

“Is that what you call this–an interrogation? You’re like five.”

This time she kicked him in the shin, doubling him over in pain. Smirking, she said, “I’ll ask the questions.”

Gil glared up at her, still holding his injured leg. “What do you want?”

“Why did you come here–are you still out to get Tarvek? What’s your goal? Your plans?”

Gil’s eyebrow shot up as he straightened to his full height again to tower over Violetta. “Tarvek?”

Violetta crossed her arms over her chest, waiting–it was taking an awfully long time for the serum to kick in. Gil matched her stance, scowling down at her in what he probably figured was intimidation, but Violetta dealt with people like Martellus on a daily basis–he didn’t scare her one bit. Besides, she had several weapons and Smoke Knight techniques she could use to incapacitate a grown man in seconds if she needed.

“Look, kid,” he said after a moment, his shoulders relaxing, “I don’t-”

She tried to kick him again, but he easily hopped out of the way. Violetta growled, reaching into her cloak. “I don’t have time for this.”

* * *

 

Before Gil could react, the girl spun and something caught him on his shoulder with a sharp, piercing pain that thankfully only lasted a few seconds. He ripped another small dart from his arm, dropping it at his feet. “What is with everyone stabbing me today?" 

A moment later, Gil found himself flat on his back, the kid standing over him with a menacing smile that creeped him out–what was her deal anyway?

"Just tell me why you’re here?”

“I’m the Baron’s apprentice,” he said, hoping answering her questions would end the madness. “I’m here for the same reason everyone else is.”

She smacked him lightly on the cheek. “Wrong answer.”

“What?” he yelled, trying to free his hand to rub his stinging face. “It’s the truth.”

She nodded but didn’t look at all convinced. “I want to know what your plans are–are you here to get revenge on Tarvek?”

Gil bucked suddenly, catching her by surprise and sending her flying into the wall. He scrambled to his feet, putting distance between them. He felt a little woozy from whatever she dosed him with, but his father had taught him many tricks to keep his cool and his mind clear.

“You’re crazy, you know that? Tarvek was the one that attacked me–I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Everything was fine until you showed up, and now Tarvek is a mess–this is obviously your fault so what are you up to?”

Gil shook his head in frustration which did nothing for the growing fog threatening to suffocate him. “I don’t know what Tarvek told you, but I doubt it’s the whole story so this conversation or interrogation or whatever you want to call it is over.”

He made to shove past just as her foot shot out in front of him, giving Gil just enough time to hop over it and continue to the door.

“This isn’t over,” she shouted. “Yes, it is,” he yelled back, sprinting for the safety of the hallway.

Outside, he slumped against the wall with a sigh. “Is everyone here crazy?” he muttered.

He glanced down the hall, expecting his father to be looking for him, but found him still talking to the two summit leaders that approached them in earlier. At least he cut a break there–he couldn’t get in trouble for delaying them if his father was the one to stop to chit-chat.

He waited near the gallery, watching the tension grow in his father’s shoulders and half expecting another attack from Tarvek’s little psycho bodyguard. This day just kept getting worse and worse, he thought before pushing off the wall and strolling towards the group down the hall.

He tugged a watch from his pocket popping it open without looking at it as he approached. “Herr Baron,” he said over the babble of voices bringing the conversation to a halt. “It’s getting late, sir.”

The flash of relief in his father’s face was more than a little satisfying–maybe he still could do some things right. He snapped the watch closed with a smirk that thankfully no one noticed.

His father turned to the group. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but our company has been requested at supper–it would be rude to our hosts to be tardy.”

The other men reluctantly mumbled their good-byes then headed off in another direction while their obviously grateful guard continued to escort them to the dining hall in the private wing of the castle.

“Thank you,” his father whispered, falling back to walk next to him.

Gil shrugged–he didn’t have much experience with any kind of praise and had no idea how to react to it coming from the Baron of all people.

His father laid a hand on Gil’s shoulder. “No, that was good thinking. Could have been a little sooner, though.”

With that, his father returned to the guard’s side leaving Gil sighing in frustration. Even when he did things right, he did them wrong.

“I can’t win,” he muttered then rubbed at the sore spot on his neck that was making his entire jaw feel tight and painful to talk.

A moment later, they turned the corner and passed through a set of unassuming doors into what could only be described as a cozy home within a home. Well, a home within a castle. It wasn’t unlike the Baron’s personal quarters on Castle Wulfenbach. Not that Gil knew much about that–he’d only visited them a few times and still lived in the dorms with the other kids in the school.

They followed a carpeted hall past a large living room, smaller lady’s sitting room, a smoking room, sunroom with no windows but beautiful summer landscapes painted on the vaulted ceilings, and finally to a rather grand dining room although not as spectacular as the official ones he’d seen in other parts of the castle.

The room was large, holding several long wooden tables adorned with linens, but it was obviously a family room–paintings of children and parents adorned the walls, the chairs were actually comfortable and most importantly, everyone was laughing and talking over each other like Gil assumed a family would.

The whole thing was a little overwhelming, but he followed their escort who guided them to the head table where Prince Aaronev sat with a small child on his lap. He tweaked the girl’s noise getting a giggle before she whisked away by her mother or nanny.

He stood, shaking the Baron’s hand. “I trust everything is in order, Klaus,” he said, eyes sliding to Gil with obvious meaning.

Gil straightened up and before his father could prod him, he sucked up his pride and said, “I want to apologize for my earlier ill behavior, Your Highness. As you know, I was friends with your son on Castle Wulfenbach, and we didn’t leave things in good terms. I regret that it boiled over today–I should have handled things differently.”

His father nodded in approval. Even the Prince seemed satisfied with his apology and cowed demeanor. It’s not like he’d spent all afternoon thinking about what he’d say to ease things over with his father, but even though he did mean most of it like wishing he’d handled things differently, it still nearly killed him to say it out loud.

With the formalities out of the way, Gil was shown which table to sit at which consisted entirely of children of various ages, the youngest attended by nannies at one end of the table.

From the farthest end, Seffie waved frantically at Gil, motioning him to join her. He felt a moment of panic that resolved itself into resignation when he realized there was no polite way to decline the younger girl’s obvious invitation.

He reluctantly, and rather slowly, made his to the empty seat beside her. “Good evening, uh-" He stumbled over his next words–was she a princess like Anevka; what did he call her? Unsure of the answer and the extent of his lessons on royal formality, he settled on a slight bow and a mostly mumbled, "Miss Seffie.”

“Oh, please–it’s just Seffie,” she said, scooting her chair closer to Gil, forcing him to slide nearly off the other side of his own seat.

He quickly reached for the glass of water beside his plate, avoiding eye contact with her, but Seffie didn’t give up easily.

As soon as he returned the glass to the table, she reached for his face. “Oh, Gil, what happened to your eye?” she asked dramatically.

Gil blinked at her–he was pretty sure everyone in the castle knew what had happened earlier in the day. She waited for an answer, her thumb running over the edge of the bruise causing him to cringe away. “Just a misunderstanding,” he mumbled, taking her hand and placing it in her lap. “I’m fine.”

It was then that he noticed who sat across from them. Anevka watched the two of them, mouth slightly open in apparent shock while Tarvek glared back. Gil quickly looked away, cursing under his breath and getting a weird look from the older girl on his other side.

Seffie still wasn’t finished, though. She brushed his bangs from another bruise on the side of his head. “Who would do such a thing?”

“No one important,” he said, surprising himself at the words and the resentment behind them. Across the table, Anevka’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

Seffie’s hand dropped back to her lap, but Gil didn’t miss the way she glanced in Tarvek’s direction–so she did know what happened and was playing him for a fool. Figures–his father did say the entire family was poison; he supposed that included cousins and other distant relatives like crazy miniature Smoke Knights.

Gil took a deep breath, centering himself. “I’m fine,” he repeated more for himself than anyone at the table.

Seffie nodded, though, and thankfully, dropped the subject, turning to Anevka to discuss some other scandal from this afternoon.

Tarvek’s heated stare burned his skin or maybe that was all of the drugs he’d injected with over the course of the evening. He rubbed at his shoulder then took another sip of his water before putting the glass down slowly and straightening all of the eating utensils in front of him.

He picked up a tiny spoon, examining the detail on the handle then picked up a small fork, comparing the two. He set the spoon down but continued to play with the odd fork–anything to avoid everyone at the table.

“It’s for the salad,” Tarvek informed him.

Gill glared, setting down the fork. “I know that–I was admiring the filigree. It’s very detailed, reminiscent of Viktor Hophauser during his Paris phase, but you can tell by the scroll work that it’s more likely the work of one of his students–Iliad Marquois, perhaps, although he favored an Indian flare as opposed to Provençal.

“If I had to guess, the original silver was lost in a card game of some ill repute and replaced by these stunning Herrod Garteau recreations–excellent workmanship but not authentic, unlike this demitasse spoon which is a Hophauser original but from his later Bavarian inspired Paris-style designs. Of course, that means these were made long after Adronicus Valois would have been considering flatware for any reason but meant to look like something he’d chosen for himself.”

Gil’s words trickled to a stop as he noticed more than three sets of eyes focused on him, many narrowed with contempt. At some point, he realized, he’d slipped into the French he’d originally read  _The Full History of Europa Cutlery; or Why You Should Never Use a Soup Spoon to Reanimate the Dead, a Cautionary Tale_.

He quickly wet over his entire speech while sipping his water–had he just accused the Royal Family of using forged flatware? Finally, he couldn’t hide behind his glass any longer, setting it slowly above his set of shiny, pointy knives he considered his first line of defense if the natives decided to riot. "Of course,” he said, clearing his throat, “I could be wrong.”

The table was utterly silent, the tension suffocating until Seffie suddenly clapped. “Gil, you speak French?”

“Oui,” he said before finishing off his water to hide a giddy grin.

And just like that, the tension broke–the other diners going back to their conversations just as servers arrived with the first course.

“Have you ever been to Paris?” Seffie asked, tugging at his jacket sleeve. “Grandmother took me last summer–there is nothing like summer in Paris.”

A bowl of what appeared to be creamed asparagus was set in front of them. Gil fiddled with his soup spoon as he waited for the others to be served while Seffie continued to babble about all of the things she’s seen on her trip which to Gil’s ears consisted mostly of cafes, dress shops, and other frivolous venues–girl stuff.

Tarvek and Anevka continued to watch him with matching scowls–no doubting they were related. Obviously, Tarvek had turned Anevka against him. Not surprising, but it hurt more than Gil thought it should considering he’d only met her this morning.

He tried not to think about the fun they had running around the castle and exploring the arboretum but he felt his face flush just the same as the memory of Anevka holding his hand and smiling at him. He couldn’t shake the image of that crumpled drawing now at the bottom of the wastebasket in their guest suite–kind of a metaphor for their entire relationship so far.

Gil snorted at that, getting Tarvek’s attention again. The other boy’s eyes narrowed, spoon halfway to his mouth. They watched each other for a moment before Seffie distracted both of them when she switched to rambling about the unfairness of her not being allowed at the summit.

Gil stuffed his mouth with spoonful after spoonful of soup to keep out of the conversation, but he noticed each bite had less taste than the last. That matched the growing haze around the corners of his vision and overall fogginess of his brain. He frowned, dropping the spoon in his bowl with a clank then sat back, the whole room swimming around him.

For a moment, he wondered if he was going to be sick but a twinge in his jaw brought his hand up where it rain across the sore spot on his neck. That damn Smoke Knight. “What did she do to me?” he mumbled.

“Pardon?” Seffie asked, her attention suddenly focused entirely on Gil as if he’d spoken to her by name–just what he needed.

Gil forced a smile on his face. “I was just saying that you don’t belong at the Summit.”

“Oh?” Her face fell in disappointment.

“I mean,” he added, quickly as he fought to gather his thoughts, “it’s boring–you would hate it.”

“Told you,” Anevka said, taking a sip of her soup.

“I’m sure you’re being much more useful outside the summit,” he continued despite the constant internal threats to shut the hell up. “You’re an information gatherer, correct.”

She seemed delighted by this description, sitting up straighter with a smile.

“You mean rumor-monger,” said Tarvek as he set his spoon neatly beside his empty bowl then dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his napkin.

“I prefer rumor collector, thank you very much,” Seffie said, turning her nose up at Tarvek and getting a laugh from Anevka.

“And the interesting stuff isn’t happening in the meetings, and if it was, it’s all being recorded by fifty different people. Everyone will know every detail of what happens in the meetings, but the other stuff-”

"Don’t encourage her,” Tarvek interrupted as a waiter removed their bowls and another came behind them filling one of their glasses with white wine.

Seffie stuck her tongue out at her cousin, reaching for the filled glass just as someone else snatched it from in front of her.

They all looked up as Martellus passed them, tossing the entire contents of the glass back in one gulp. “Ah-ah,” he said to his sister, “you’re still a little too young.”

He left the glass on the platter of one a waiter and continued back to one of the adult tables with a laugh.

Seffie slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “I hate him.”

“We all hate him, sweetie,” Anevka said just as another waiter stepped between her and Tarvek. She put her hand over Tarvek’s glass. “He’s good,” she told the white-haired man.

If looks could kill Anevka would have been laid to rest ten years before she was even born.

“What?” she said to her brother as she sipped her wine. The two glared at each other in some unvoiced sibling standoff before Tarvek turned away, his cheeks slightly red.

 _What was that about_? Gil wondered. He glanced at Seffie who looked more interested in how she might steal the glass from the gangly teen boy sitting on her other side than whatever was going on with her cousins.

Gil realized he was out of his element when it came to family affairs; he had no idea if this was normal sibling behavior. The way Tarvek had talked as a kid, he worshiped the ground his sister walked on to the point that Gil had worshiped her, too–well, worshipped the idea of her.

He’d always dreamed about finding his real family and learning he had a sister to love him as much as Tarvek and Anenvka loved each other. Of course, that never happened, he had no sister, and from what he can tell, things between brothers and sisters aren’t that great anyway.

A new set of waiters descended on the table, dropping off plates of poached salmon in some kind of sauce. It smelled amazing, but like the soup, Gil found he couldn’t really taste any of it.  _So not fair_.

“Something wrong with your fish?” Tarvek asked, his voice sounding large inside Gil’s head.

Gil blinked at him then at the fish. “No.” He stuffed another bite, tasting nothing but bland dryness. As soon as supper was over, he was going to find that little psycho and make her tell him the antidote to whatever this… detastifying drug was.

“Do you like fish?” Seffie asked.

“Huh?”

He forced his eyes to focus on the little red-head next to him. She was wearing a different dress than this afternoon–this one a plum color that actually looked nice with her bright hair. She kind of matched Tarvek with their color scheme while Anevka’s green dress fought for attention with her own flaming hair.

Gil was wearing a plain black suit with red trim. Why was he even thinking about this? Didn’t Seffie ask him a question? 

He shook his head, trying to clear the growing fog and finally focused on Tarvek across from him, eyes narrowed. It was the first time Gil took a good look at him since their fight earlier, not that you could tell Tarvek had been involved in any scuffle. His skin was as pale and flawless as always–not a hint of bruises or cuts.

Gil couldn’t remember if he’d hit Tarvek. His knuckles hurt like hell so he must have but Tarvek didn’t show it. Must be some kind of makeup.

Gil didn’t know about any of that stuff so his wounds were out in the open for everyone to whisper about which was pretty par-for-course for Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. Heir to the Wulfenbach Empire… er-

“Gil?”

Gil started, turned wide eyes on Seffie then smiled a little maniacally and said, “yes, I do like fish,” more loudly than he’d intended before quickly gulping down half of his wine.

Tarvek and Anevka just stared while Seffie seemed completely immune to his absurd behavior. She lifted her plate, looked around then dumped the contents onto his. “It’s useless to eat fish without the wine.”

She batted her long eyelashes up at him–they were red like her hair. “Unless you want to share your wine, Gil.”

Without thinking, he slid the glass over to her which got a huge smile, but when she reached for it, Anevka took it away.

“You’re no fun,” Seffie said, thrusting her lower lip out in a royal-size pout.

“I’ll get us some more waters,” Tarvek said, signaling to one of the waitstaff positioned around the room.

“I don’t want water,” Seffie moaned. “I want wine like everyone else.”

Her feet swung back and forth, kicking anything in their way. Anevka moved sharply under the table, causing Seffie to sit up straight with a yelp. “Well, maybe if you weren’t acting like a child you wouldn’t be treated like one.”

“Tarvek isn’t drinking,” Gil said. “He must be acting like a child as well.”

The three just stared at him then Seffie fell against him in a fit of giggles. “He is being a brat, isn’t he?” she said into his shoulder.

Gil smiled, proud of himself for some reason–it was hard to tell why with the growing haze in his head–but making Seffie laugh seemed like a good reason.

Tarvek huffed just as a waiter deposited several glasses of water between them and refilled Gil and Anevka’s wine.

“He’s abstaining for his health,” Anevka said, grinning over the lip of her wine glass as she sipped.

Tarvek’s face reddened further. Gil thought he might literally explode so he pushed his glass across the table. “You look like you need this more than me.”

Anevka spit her wine back into her glass with a snort while Seffie burst into another round of laughter–this one more honking than giggles.

Tarvek pointed the death glare directly at Gil, and that didn’t feel very good, but he couldn’t seem to stop the stupid that kept coming out of his mouth.

“You’re funny,” Seffie said, laying her head on his shoulder–she was practically sitting on his chair now so he slipped his arm around her to keep them both from falling off.

Anevka frowned; Tarvek’s eyes narrowed, but they didn’t get a chance to say anything before more waiters descended on the tables to whisk away the fish and bring out another course–this one some kind of small, whole bird surrounded by steamed squash and carrots over rice.

“I didn’t finish my fish,” Gil said glumly, poking at the bird with his salad fork.

“It wasn’t very good without the wine anyway,” Seffie added.

“I had wine.”

“But you gave it to Tarvek who was very ungrateful by the way.”

Gil snorted. “He wasn’t, was he?”


	8. Chapter 8

“He should probably loosen up.”

Anevka removed the glass of disputed wine, handing it to the waiter pouring new glasses of red wine. “Tarvek has been loose enough today, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure he could be looser; he used to be a lot of fun when we were kids,” Gil said without thinking.

“Wait,” said Seffie, “Tarvek was fun? I find that hard to believe–old stuffy-pants wouldn’t know fun if it smacked that annoying, smug look he always has off his boring face.”

Gil nodded, taking a sip of his new glass of wine. “Oh, yeah, we used to have tons of fun.” He scratched his head with a frown into the red liquid. "I wonder what happened?”

Tarvek growled; his grip on his fork turning white while his face flushed darker than his hair. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, jaw clenched tight. “Might have something to do with being betrayed and sent home in disgrace after just nine months.”

A sudden burst of shame shot through Gil. “Right,” he mumbled. He felt sick to his stomach that had nothing to do with his foggy brain and sudden lack of taste buds. Had he really just said that out loud and in front of Tarvek? What was he thinking?

Gil slid his arm from around Seffie, setting her back on her own chair. She glanced between the two of them, a hungry look in her eyes. “Ooh, this sounds juicy–what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” Gil said while Tarvek just looked away.

“Come on, Gil,” she prodded. “You can’t drop a bomb like Prince Stick-Up-His-Butt had a life and not explain–I am the information gatherer, you said. I need to gather this information.”

“Just drop it, Seffie,” Anevka said softly. “It’s obviously none of your business.”

“Pff, such an amateur mistake, cousin. Now I must know what happened.”

_Yeah, never going to happen_ , Gil thought as he stuffed his mouth full of vegetables and finished off his wine before he even finished chewing.

Seffie poked him in the ribs. “Come on, Gil, you can tell me.”

Gil swallowed down the tasteless food, shaking his head. “No way,” he said, except what actually came out of his mouth was, “well, this one time we were wandering around Castle Wulfenbach when we found this room full of naked mannequins. I have no idea why they were naked or why there was a room full of them, but Tarvek just had to-”

“Stop it,” Anevka said, looking nervously between Gil and her brother.

“But this was just getting interesting,” Seffie said as she leaned forward, her chin propped on her hand. “Tell me more.”

Gil fought back the urge to continue the story–what was wrong with him? The more Seffie cajoled him, the less resistance he seemed to have and the more the fog seemed to fill his mind.

“Enough, Seffie,” Tarvek finally said, slamming his hand down between them, rattling the silver, “or I’ll start telling stories about you.”

“There are no stories about me; I’m perfect–Grandmama told me so.”

Anevka rolled her eyes. “Grandmother tells everyone that.”

“But she really means it for me.”

“She tell you that, too?” Tarvek grumbled. “I do seem to recall this one time when you were five-”

"Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Seffie screeched, once again getting the attention of the entire room until Anevka kicked her under the table. “You said we’d never speak of that again.”

The table grew suddenly silent, sending a shiver down Gil’s back. A stern looking woman with a pinched face and severe gray bun strolled over to stand behind Anevka.

“Is there a problem, Master Tarvek,” she asked, voice low and threatening.

The standoff with Seffie lasted a moment longer before Tarvek looked away, sitting ramrod straight, eyes staring right past Gil. “Everything is fine, Frau Heinlein.”

The woman considered the three–now Anevka and Seffie were sitting straight, hands in her laps, eyes distant–then nodded, walking stiffly away.

The silence at the table grew until the woman disappeared then it was if everyone let out a sigh of relief at the same time and went back to their conversations like nothing happened.

_What just happened_?

* * *

 

Tarvek remained completely still long after Frau Heinlein exited the room, leaving behind a chill over his flushed skin. He forced the lump down in his throat–she always had that effect on him, like he was drowning in his own terror.

Gil glanced around the group–none of them making eye contact with him or each other. “Who was that?” he asked, keeping a wary eye on the door she’d exited through.

“That’s the nanny,” Seffie whispered. “She’s scary.”

"That’s your nanny?” Gil asked Tarvek a little louder than he’d intended. “And I thought von Pinn was terrifying.”

Tarvek finally met Gil’s gaze, a moment of familiarity flaring between them, bringing a wistful smile to Gil’s lips until they both seemed to realize at the same time what they were doing and looked away in opposite directions.

_No, nothing like von Pinn–she actually cared_. He didn’t voice that thought, instead reaching across the table for Anevka’s wine; she didn’t stop him, only signaled a waiter for another glass.

After that, things calmed down some as Seffie launched into a one-sided conversation none of them paid any attention to. Across from him, Gil picked at his quail, took a small bite then dropped his fork onto the plate with a look of disgust.

“You don’t like fish and you don’t like quail,” Tarvek said. “Is there anything you do eat?”

Gil didn’t look up. “I like fish just fine; this tastes like-” He pushed his entire plate away, frowning. “-nothing.”

“Gil, are you well?” Seffie asked, placing her hand against his cheek.

Tarvek had to admit he looked a little pale and was listing slightly towards Seffie, but then Gil turned that guileless smile towards his younger cousin making Tarvek nearly gag on his food.

“I’m fine, thank you, maybe, I’m not sure I think okay,” Gil said all in one breath before shaking his head. He focused on Seffie. “I’m okay, just not that hungry.”

If Tarvek didn’t know any better, he’d think those words were almost painful for Gil to say considering how forced they were and the tension in his set jaw.

“What?” Gil said, eyes narrowed at Tarvek.

Damn, he’d been staring, but now he couldn’t very well look away or he’d look suspicious so he just continued to stare, matching Gil’s expression.

“Boys,” Anevka warned, “don’t you think we’ve had enough drama this evening.”

“Yes,” Gil answered, “I’ve had plenty of drama. Here and here and here.” He pointed at the bruises and cuts covering his face while still staring pointedly at Tarvek until Tarvek admitted defeat and ducked his head, cheeks flaming.

Anevka sighed and returned to her meal. Tarvek could feel Gil’s gaze scalding his skin until he felt completely naked, his soul bared– _how did he even have that power_? Disgusted with himself, he downed the rest of his wine.

_What is wrong with me? Holzfäller is back in my life for one day and I’m reduced to a drunken sod with a broken heart_.

The thought stopped him cold. His heart was not broken–not by Gilgamesh Holzfäller for sure. He just had a lot of buried trauma he’d yet to unpack from his childhood that Gil was nice enough to trigger by showing up at his own house, in service to the Baron, no less–the person that had destroyed Tarvek’s young life with a swift dismissal bereft of any explanation on Tarvek’s end.

That’s all it was–displaced anger over the cruelty he suffered as a child. It had nothing to do with Holzfäller himself.

“Why are you staring at me?” Gil demanded suddenly, startling the people sitting around them. 

Or maybe it was just Gil he was angry with.

“Why are you even here?” Tarvek asked, annoyed with himself for caring.

Gil’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?”

The stare-down lasted several moments until a chime sounded the beginning of the next course. Tarvek let out a relieved breath as waiters poured out of the kitchen, replacing half-eaten entrees with fresh radish-onion salads much to the chagrin of many of the children at the table.

“What is wrong with you?” Anevka asked, leaning close while Gil and Seffie whispered to each other.

“I’m fine.”

She glanced from him to Gil then back. “I thought you said you weren’t hung up on him?”

“I’m not.”

“Well, you’re not acting like it, and you’re being rude to our guest. Quit antagonizing him or I’ll let Seffie tell some of her stories,” she finished with a satisfied grin.

“What will you let Seffie do?” Seffie asked.

“Nothing,” Tarvek muttered before Anevka could answer. 

Seffie obviously didn’t buy it which meant she’d keep needling him until he snapped again–she was good at getting information when she wanted it, and Seffie always wanted information. He needed to be more careful.

The salad did nothing to improve anyone’s spirits at the table. Many of the younger children made a game of hiding bits of it in napkins and skirts before their nannies and caretakers could catch them. Others simply threw it at each other. None of them ate any.

Even Tarvek didn’t have the appetite for radishes and onions drizzled in some kind of too-sweet vinaigrette.  _How does one even make vinegar sweet_?

Tarvek sighed, sipping his wine that Anevka had stopped protesting probably because she knew if she needed it that much to get through the night then he probably needed it more.

Or she just got tired of fighting him.

And Seffie because she was on her third glass and listing slightly despite Anevka watering it down drastically–Grandmother was going to kill them if she caught Seffie drunk.

Across from him, Gil frowned at his plate, blinked a few times then rolled his eyes into the back of his head like he was having an annoying conversation with his salad. Tarvek wondered what the hell he was thinking but knew better than to ask. That would look to Anevka a little too much like he cared when really he was just bored out of his mind.

And curious. Damn him for being curious about what Gil had been up to the last five years. How did he get to be an apprentice? Of the Baron, no less.

He wanted to know why and how Gil could go from being nobody to such a prestigious appointment.  _Did it have something to do with what happened that night–what they found in the vaults? Or what they didn’t find? Why couldn’t he just let it go?_

Gil and the mystery of his family and why he was here after all this time. He hated to admit Anevka was right–he was hung up on Holzfäller and needed to find a way to get over him or this week would be an even bigger disaster than he’d first predicted.

“You’re being rude again,” his sister whispered into his ear then tousled his hair.

Tarvek smacked her hand away and took another sip of wine, noticing Gil had finished his already. In fact, by Tarvek’s count, Gil had more wine than the rest of them but seemed sober enough, ignoring the dopey look on his face that was currently directed at Seffie.

“Holzfäller,” Tarvek said, startling the other boy to nearly falling off his chair, “are you flirting with my cousin?”

“So what if I am?” Gil said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s eleven and off limits.”

“Tarvek,” Seffie shouted, facing blazing red, “mind your own business.”

Anevka took a deep breath, holding a hand up to stop Seffie’s growing outburst. “No, I’m on Tarvek’s side here–Gil is too old for you.”

“I’m almost twelve.”

Tarvek crossed his arms, matching Gil. “And he’s almost fifteen.”

Gil’s eyebrow shot up and Tarvek wanted to kick himself for giving away that he knew even the smallest intimate detail of the other boy’s life. After a moment, Gil looked away with a sigh, picked up his wine glass, and seeing it was empty, set it back down.

“I wasn’t flirting–or I didn’t mean to.”

Seffie let out an indignant huff which Gil answered with a mumbled apology to the table before Seffie stomped off. Other diners sitting close to them stopped to watch but then went back to their own conversations at Anevka’s threatening stare.

Tarvek shook his head. “You’re not very good with girls, are you?”

“Leave him alone, Tarvek,” Anevka said just as their father stood at the head table, tapping his wine glass to get everyone’s attention. Both Tarvek and Anevka groaned getting a questioning look from Gil.

“And now we enter the parental embarrassment portion of the evening,” said Anevka, getting a giggle from one of their cousins sitting next to her.

As their father began droning on about what an honor it was to have the Baron at their family dinner table, Gil twisted in his seat to watch. Tarvek tried to pay attention, but he could only see the back of Gil’s head from his position and could only hear the rush of blood between his ears as he methodically took in every inch of the other boy.

Gil had gotten bigger, of course, but he looked stuck somewhere between boy and man that unnerved Tarvek–his shoulders were broader than Tarvek’s own, but Gil was much thinner with arms and legs that seemed a little too long, but after their fight, he knew they hid powerful muscles.

With them, he filled his suit out well or maybe the suit was tailored for him. If he was officially the Baron’s protege than it would be expected, but despite how well the suit fit, Gil appeared completely out of sorts in it–like he’d rather be in a lab coat or naked than dressed up.

Tarvek shivered at that thought and downed the last of his wine; he did not want to be thinking about Holzfäller naked. He must have made a face because it got his sister’s attention and a smug smile that sent vengeful plots bouncing around his head.

She knew he was thinking about Gil and would never let him live this down, but trying to divert his thoughts elsewhere just circled back around to the other boy and how his hair curled around his ears and stuck up at odd angles just as it did when they were children.  _Did he even own a comb_? Or how Gil still held himself like he was ready to bounce off his chair and into their next adventure–barely contained perpetual motion and raw power.

As if he also knew Tarvek’s thoughts, Gil turned to give him a questioning look, head tilted in such a familiar way it nearly took Tarvek’s breath away.  _How the hell did he do that still_?

The two stared at each other, and Tarvek found himself again wondering what Gil was thinking because he was sure he could see the wheels in his mind turning in his eyes.

“What?” Gil asked again but without the derision of earlier–more like he was just as curious about what Tarvek was thinking, so naturally, Tarvek just looked away feeling more like an idiot.

He was saved any more uncomfortable moments with Seffie returning, plunking down in her seat with her arms crossed and a look like the world owed her everything her heart desired and she wasn’t getting it–in other words, her normal look.

“When will this ever end,” Seffie moaned, reaching for her glass and realizing with obvious distaste that it was already empty then eyeing everyone at the table like they were responsible.

* * *

 

Gil flipped open his pocket watch, the little hands blurring together then popped it closed without actually looking at the time. “It’s only been seven minutes,” he said, frowning at the closed watch that had told him nothing of the sort.

“Well if no one stops him, Uncle Aaronev will keep this up for hours–he loves to talk about himself like he was the king of the universe.”

“So that’s where you get it from,” Anevka said, eyes twinkling with mischief Gil remembered from their adventure through the castle.

Seffie wasn’t as amused as Gil at the remark though, instead, kicking her cousin under the table and apparently striking a table leg instead by the yelp of pain and growl across the table at Anevka’s smirk.

The Prince was now carrying on about his family which included pretty much everyone in the room in some way. Then he moved on to his pride in his children and how amazing they were, making even Gil cringe as everyone turned their way and reluctantly raised their glasses.

“Oh, geeze,” he muttered once the attention moved back to the prince, “parents are so embarrassing.”

“Tell me about it,” Seffie grumbled with a nod.


	9. Chapter 9

"This one time my f-" Gil started to say but snapped his jaw shut at the same moment Tarvek said, "what would you know about it? You don't even have any parents."

"Tarvek!" Anevka said with a gasp then smacked his arm.

Gil only blinked back, the fog in his head clearing just enough to realize his near-fatal mistake-- _had he really been about to name the Baron as his father_? 

His hand came up to rub at the sore spot on his neck.  _That damn Smoke Knight_ , he thought, brow furrowing,  _what did she do to me_?

"What?" Tarvek said, glaring at his sister. "He's an orphan--everyone already knows that."

He shot Gil a challenging look--almost as if begging Gil to prove him wrong, and just like that, Gil was eight-years-old, digging through files in the Baron's vault on a stormy night with the lightning making gruesome shadows in dark corners. They'd thought themselves clever, but they had no idea how that one adventure would change their lives forever.

The story they'd found in his file that night had been a sucker punch to an already broken boy, but Tarvek hadn't believed a word of it.

It was days or weeks later when Gil finally processed everything that had happened from the moment they concocted their ill-fated and obviously fool-hearty plan to the crushing despair of learning about his supposed embarrassing past to Tarvek being hauled into the office where the Baron had just informed Gil that his best friend was just using him to gather information for his duplicitous family.

Gil didn't even know what duplicitous meant, but the Baron was mad and Gil was scared so he did the only thing he could--he saved himself at the cost of his friendship with the one person that had ever shown him a smidgen of respect. He'd been so caught up in his own fear that he didn't hear Tarvek's hastily whispered reassurances to find the truth.

Tarvek had to have known he was in a lot of trouble but his first instinct was to protect Gil and Gil had-

He swallowed hard, finally meeting Tarvek's hard eyes across the table.

-he had betrayed him while Tarvek was still trying to protect him.

He quickly looked away, mouth dry because if he had just listened maybe things would have been different.

Then again, maybe not. It was months later when the Baron actually told him the truth about who he was and what his life was going to be about from that point forward. There had never been any room for Tarvek in it no matter who Tarvek thought he was--the Baron would have found a way to get rid of him eventually.

"Tarvek, apologize," Anevka demanded, giving her brother a shove.

"I thought you were on my side," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Anevka growled under her breath. "You are being rude and callous--apologize this instant or I'll tell Father about you and Lilliana-"

"Shut up," he said hastily, bringing Seffie's attention to the conversation.

"Ooh," she said, leaning forward, "who's Lilliana? Wait, isn't that the maid at Uncle Rutger's summer place?"

Gil looked between the three of them as Seffie practically drooled with the scandal brewing. This was so messed up and his head felt like it was melting and his neck hurt and he just wanted to eat some food that actually tasted like food and get some sleep.

"It's been a long day," he said suddenly, louder than he'd intended.

"It has," Tarvek said, slumping uncharacteristically in his chair.

A moment later, the speech thankfully ended and the chime sounded the beginning of dessert which happened to be cake but Gil had no appetite if he even could taste the chocolate. He just needed to make it through this and coffee and probably idle chit-chat with people he cared nothing about to look good for his father and then maybe he could get some rest before he had to do it all again.

"Is this torture ever going to end?" Gil frowned, his heart suddenly racing and the room swimming just a little more. "Did I just say that out loud?" he asked, voice shaky. "Did I just say  _that_ out loud?"

He tried to focus his eyes on Tarvek, but all he could see were glimmers of red and purple no matter how hard he blinked.

"Holzfäller," Tarvek said, sounding miles away, "what is wrong with you?"

"Are you ill?" asked Seffie except she sounded like she was screaming inside Gil's head.

He started, scrambling away and knocking into the person sitting on his other side.

"Really, Gil, you don't look well," added Anevka--her voice sounded normal if a little wobbly. "You know, there's some contagion going around the castle; maybe you should see Dr. Edelweiss."

"Yes," Gil shouted then bit his tongue, "no, I mean, no doctor, I'm fine, I've been inoculated, no clucking for me, I swear, I-" The words tumbled out of his mouth unfiltered as he tried to collect his thoughts that bounced everywhere and seemed to float off into the ether. Something was definitely wrong with him and he knew what.

"No, I don't."

"Don't what?" asked Seffie, brow furrowed as she inched farther away from him.

"You could be contagious," whispered Avenka.

"Not contagious, not sick, just-"  _Just what_?  _Something, something, something, what is it?_ He tore at his hair trying to remember something important as he was sure his brain was melting and dribbling out of his ears. "That can't be healthy," he mumbled, touching his ears and finding nothing amiss, but there was a sharp sting to his jaw as his hand slid down his neck. "Wait!"


	10. Chapter 10

Everyone at the table turned to him nervously.  _Damn, I said that out loud again_. He tilted his head, waiting for someone to say something before he realized that he  _didn't_ say that out loud this time.

The Smoke Knight--that's what he'd been trying to remember.

He found Tarvek amid the blobs of color which was considerably difficult when 90% of them had the same bright red hair. "You have really strong genetics," he told the red blob across from him.

"What?"

Gil shook his head, not helping clear it in the least, but it did manage to jumble some words into a coherent sentence. "This is your fault."

"My fault that you're drunk," he said with more than a little hint of smugness.

"Not drunk; drugged," Gil slurred pointing his finger at Tarvek except it wasn't his finger; it was a sprig of mint from dessert, and he was actually pointing it at the small girl sitting next to Tarvek who seemed unfazed by Gil's absurd behavior.

He cleared his throat, dropped the mint then directed his attention back to his original target. "Why did you do this to me?"

Tarvek scowled back; at least Gil thought he did because he was still just a blob--probably a pretentious, smug looking blob but still a blob.

The room was too bright and too loud and too quiet--little whispers everywhere--and too hard and too spinny. Gil stumbled to his feet, his chair slamming into a waiter who dropped his bottle of wine with a loud crash that got even more attention.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Gil mumbled then tripped over his own feet, landing in Seffie's surprised lap. He gave her a goofy, lop-sided grin. "Oops."

Seffie smiled back, running her fingers through his now sweaty hair then her smile disappeared. "You're burning up, Gil."

"Sir," the waiter said, "are you all right?"

"He's fine, Fenton," Anevka told him as she appeared on Gil's side of the table, "he just needs some air."

A moment later Tarvek was dragging him to his feet while Anevka supported his other side, and Seffie followed behind giving polite excuses to concerned adults.

"My father is going to kill me," Gil mumbled. "Crap, said that, too."

Anevka pressed her hand to his forehead then his cheeks and neck, a frown growing on her pretty face. "He really is burning up, Tarvek. We should take him to the doctor."

"No," Gil said, "no doctors."

"What are you seeing right now?" Tarvek asked him.

Gil leaned against the cool stone wall, trying with all his might to make sense of the colors around him, but the harder he concentrated, the less sense anything made. "Butterflies," he finally answered with absolute certainty then started to giggle. "Pretty red and purple butterflies."

Tarvek smacked his hands away from where he'd been petting Tarvek's head. "You're hallucinating. I don't think this is the wine."

"No, probably not," Anevka agreed. "Maybe he was allergic to something he ate."

"He didn't eat anything,” Tarvek said. “He just picked at his food.”

Seffie glanced around the hall then stepped closer, wringing her hands. "He was saying someone drugged him."

"He said a lot of stuff--he's delusional."

"Why would someone drug him?" asked Anevka.

Gil poked her cheek with his finger, getting a gentle smile from her and a growl from Tarvek. "That's the wrong question."

Tarvek yanked him away from his sister, taking most of Gil's weight on himself in the process. "Then what's the right question?"

"Ooh," said Seffie, waving her hand in her excitement. "Who drugged him--that's the question. Right?"

Gil placed his finger on the side of his nose then pointed at Seffie before he doubled over and vomited on Tarvek's shoes. They were really nice shoes, too.

* * *

 

"For the love of-" Tarvek grabbed the back of Gil's jacket, hauling him upright.

Gil wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Double oops."

Seffie giggled while Anevka sighed then slid under Gil's other arm again. "Maybe we should get him back to his quarters--I'm sure the Baron can take care of him."

Tarvek had to admit that in the circumstances it was the best course of action then they could send for the doctor and the Baron--let them sort it out. "Fine, but next time, he pukes on your boots," he muttered, dragging Gil down the hall.

They turned a corner then ducked behind a tapestry just as some guards came out of a side room. Tarvek found the loose block, sliding it a centimeter to the right and pushing it in with a click. "This will be faster."

"Ooh," said Gil, "a secret passage. Neat."

Tarvek sighed as he ushered everyone into the dark passage and closed the door. Someone struck a match, lighting the small space and nearly set Seffie's hair on fire. Tarvek knocked the match from Gil's hand as his cousin started screaming which was cut off quickly, presumably by Anevka.

"Who gave him matches?" Tarvek hissed.

"I don't know," Anevka answered somewhere behind him, "he just had them."

"Sorry," Gil said sounding defeated as he slumped against Tarvek. "I made a mess of things." He hiccuped. "And I don't mean your shoes although I did make a mess of those too which I can totally fix."

He leaned over and started cleaning Tarvek's boots with the corner of his jacket until Tarvek yanked him back up by his collar. "Knock it off."

"Let's get you back to your room before Tarvek murders you right here," Anevka cooed, taking some of his weight.

"Okay. You're really pretty in the dark, you know that?"

"Really?" Anevka said with a snort. "You can tell that even in the dark?"

Tarvek got the impression Gil was nodding vigorously even though none of them could see him.

"Oh, definitely," Gil said finally. "But not as pretty as Tarvek."

Both girls dissolved into fits of giggles that left Tarvek very glad they were in near total darkness because his skin was so hot he'd never hear the end of it.

Several more minutes of listening to Holzfäller babble about nonsense found them finally at the end of the passage and stumbling into a large atrium at the intersection of the guest wing with the rest of the castle.

Above them, the stars twinkled in the clear night sky while the moon held center court directly above. Tarvek might have stopped to consider the poetry of the vision as it was framed by the iron and glass of the atrium dome if he didn't smell of vomit and stale wine and Gil's cologne that made him want to gag and take a deeper breath all at the same time.

_What even was that smell_?

He guided the group through the doors into the wing where it sounded like most of the summit members were either in their own quarters or in the guest dining hall. They snuck past the rooms and to the more prestigious quarters until they found the one Gil identified as his door.

Not sure if Gil was even in his right mind, they quickly discussed what to do, but before a consensus was reached, Gil banged on the door.

"Barkley," he half shouted, half squeaked, "I'm home." Then he collapsed against the door face first, siding to his knees and snoring.

Tarvek and Anevka barely got him to his feet again when the door popped open to a disheveled looking dog standing on two legs wearing reading glasses and a velvet smoking jacket.

He glanced around the group before settling on the lump between them. "Master Gilgamesh!"

Quickly, he escorted them in, alerting the Baron's other attendants before directing them to the smallest bedroom at the end of the hall where they dropped Gil face first onto the bed.

"What happened?" the dog-man asked.

"Nothing, fine," Gil mumbled into the bedspread before rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. "Just your average poisoning, Barkley."

"Poison!" Barkley yelped. "Who would do such a thing?"


	11. Chapter 11

"That is the most important question," Seffie said excitedly.

"Yes, Seffie, it really is," Gil slurred.

They all stared at him, waiting for the big reveal, but Gil only slumped over, his mouth slightly ajar as he started to snore. Tarvek pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation then smacked Gil's leg hard enough to jolt him awake.

Gil shot upright, blinking around the room before finally squinting at Tarvek.

Barkley stepped between them before any punches were thrown. "Master Gilgamesh, you were about to tell us who poisoned you?"

"You really have to ask?"

Barkley looked at the other children then nodded. "We won't know unless you tell us, correct?"

Gil fell back on the bed again. "When in the den of thieves-"

"Wait," Tarvek said, "are you saying we did this to you?"

"Why would Father poison the Baron's apprentice?" asked Anevka, brow furrowed. "Politically, it would be suicide--the Baron would lock Balan's Gap down hard until they found the culprit. I've seen it happen in other towns for less important people."

Gil rolled to the side, shoulders shaking, and for a moment, Tarvek thought he was going to be sick all over the bed, but then he sat up, giggling.

"No, not you," he told Anevka with that cheesy grin he seemed to think was charming. "You're too nice to poison me." His head whipped around to Tarvek, the smile replaced with a sneer. "Now your brother, on the other hand--he's a duplicitous, treacherous snake so I'd expect that from him."

Tarvek's blood instantly boiled. "Now wait a minute," he shouted, taking two steps towards the bed before both Anevka and Barkley blocked his way. "Why would I poison you?"

"Please, Your Highness," Barkley whispered, "calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down--I've just been accused of a crime in my own house. I will not be calm."

"Tarvek," Anevka said, pushing him back with a hand on his chest. "You did beat him up a few hours ago so it's not too far a stretch-"

"You're taking his side?" His voice came out way too high and screechy.  _How could she take his side?_

The hurt must have shown all over his face because she dropped her hand and took a step back, but Tarvek didn't want to hear her apologies anymore. He backed out of the room, ignoring her calls then stormed past the Baron's other assistants and out the door of the suite.

People darted out of his path until he suddenly realized there was no one left in the halls. Tarvek glanced around, taking a second to orient himself before turning back the way he'd come, still shaking with anger and betrayal.

That's all Holzfäller was good for--betrayal. If he wasn't the one betraying, he was setting someone else up to do it for him.

"My own sister! I can't believe it." He slumped against the wall. "Of course, I can believe it--she's always up to something." With that thought, he slid to the floor feeling like he'd been run over by a train. An emotional time-bomb of a train set in motion by Holzfäller.

He should have just left him at the table--let him get sick all over Seffie or Cousin Pearl. Should have let him make a big scene in front of the Baron so he'd see exactly the kind of low-brow trash he'd taken pity on with this apprentice charade.

That would have been the smart thing to do, but no, he had to be a nice guy and try to help the idiot when it became obvious he couldn't help himself anymore.

_And what do I get in return? Accused of poisoning him at my own table._ "The nerve!"

Tarvek sniffed then wiped at his nose, realizing then that he'd been crying. With a sound of disgust, he hopped to his feet and scrubbed his face clean on his sleeve.

He needed to get a grip before someone saw him breaking down over something so stupid as an unfounded accusation by a nobody like Holzfäller. If he cried every time someone said something bad about him, he'd be swimming in his own tears daily.

There was a small voice in the back of his brain that kept whispering that this was different, though, but it wasn't--not in Tarvek's opinion.

"Why would I poison him? It's ridiculous--what do I have to gain?" But that's not the real question, the voice said, now is it? Tarvek frowned at his dirty, scuffed boots, the realization settling heavy on his shoulders.

"No, it really isn't," he mumbled.

* * *

 

Gil woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed and regretting it a moment later when colors popped in his vision while the room swayed dangerously. He fell back with a groan that sounded like a freight train running through his skull.

"I'm gonna be sick," he muttered, a pressure welling from his gut into this chest.

"In the bucket, please," someone said from the other side of the room.

He lifted himself enough to see Barkley sitting on a chair, reading a newspaper in a robe and slippers shaped like bunnies.

"What?" he managed to slur just as the contents of his stomach launched upwards, and he rolled to the edge of the bed where he found a half-full bucket and managed to keep most of the mess inside. When he finished throwing up, he sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

After a moment, Barkley snapped his newspaper shut and got up with a yawn. "I will tell the Baron you are awake--you have twenty minutes to be ready, mind you."

Gil stared blurrily at the ceiling, trying to figure out what Barkley was talking about because his entire head felt wrapped in cotton-wool and filled with molasses so thick even his thoughts were bogged down. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze, but it persisted, and the shaking did nothing for his roiling stomach.

There was one thing he knew, though, if the Baron said he had to be ready in twenty minutes then he better be ready in twenty minutes. Or as ready as he could be, he thought as he dashed into the en suite before he hurled on the carpet.

A few minutes later, he was splashing cold water on his face and taking deep, slow breaths hoping to calm his frazzled nerves. He needed to get a grip--figure out what happened, how to fix it, and be ready in fifteen minutes. Ready for what he wasn't sure yet but he knew it was important.

There was a small spark of sense somewhere in his addled brain that said this was important. Outside the room, he heard the Baron's angry voice getting closer.

He was in so much trouble.  _Trouble--right!_ "I'm in trouble," he said to his reflection that stared back with dark circles under his eyes and a busted lip. "This is all Tarvek's fault. That weasel--he drugged me"

His heart rate calmed some once he began to make sense of the garbled memories bouncing around his head. That crazy miniature Smoke Knight of his and the darts--that's why he'd been acting weird. Why he almost let so many things slip.

Things could have gone so much worse if his father hadn't taught him all of those tricks on self-control and resisting tortures. He'd thought his father insane at teaching a ten-year-old to resist torture, but he'd been right after all. Gil wasn't sure what that said about any of them, but at the moment, he was just grateful or he'd be in even more trouble.

With his previous night somewhat sorted out, he quickly washed up and got dressed, finishing the last buttons as the door slammed open to an agitated Barkley followed by the Baron.

"I told him you weren't feeling well, Master Gilgamesh," Barkley said, the words ending with a soft whine.

"You're ill?" his father asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Gil stood up straight despite his sore back and head and shook his head. "Must have been the fish--I feel fine now."

His father studied him longer, probably waiting for him to break into a cold sweat and tell the truth like most people do under his scrutiny, but those were other lessons he'd already subjected Gil to. They stared at each for a long moment until the Baron was satisfied with Gil's apparent truthfulness or just didn't care enough to question them further.

"Let's go then," he said to Gil as he left the room without waiting to see if Gil would follow.

They arrived early to the morning meeting--the conference room was filled with only empty chairs as servants set out pitchers of water at each table.

Gil headed straight for a coffee engine in the corner, eyes nearly bugging out at the complicated yet elegant design as he waited for the server to explain how it worked. The thoughts started as a whisper in the back fo his head, becoming louder and more insistent as the information grew. His heart sped up, breath caught in his chest, heat burned his skin.

He needed to touch it--to take it apart and see how it really worked. Time slowed down the longer he considered the contraption, and it was almost as if he could see right through the steel and glass right down to the molecules that made up each substance--maybe even down to the atoms themselves.

He reached towards what was obviously a misconnected set of regulator tubes when the server smacked his hand away then looked terrified for what she'd just done while Gil just simply stared back at her.

"Ow," was all he could manage to say as the brightness of the engine faded back to reality.

"I'm so sorry," the server whispered, nearly in tears, "it's just it gets really hot."

Gil blinked at her then at the machine and back to her.

The girl--who couldn't be much older than Gil himself was still babbling her apology when an older man in a starched uniform came over. "Is there a problem Arabeth?"

Her lip started to tremble, twisting Gil's stomach into a knot--he remembered that kind of fear; the kind that came from knowing your place in the world meant nothing and your disappearance would mean even less.

"No, no problem," he said before Arabeth could answer.

"She just kindly pointed out the dangers of the machine before I could injure myself." He pointed at his bruised face. "I do have a tendency." He laughed dryly, but the man didn't find him at all funny while Arabeth just bit her lip so hard Gil was afraid she might draw blood.

The man huffed when Gil continued to only smile pleasantly, and he could find no other reason to berate his subordinate. "Very well, then; no dawdling Arabeth."

Gil let out a long breath once the man was gone and leaned against the table-- _was everyone in this castle so tense all of the time_? Not even a military vessel like Castle Wulfenbach was on high alert all of the time.

"Thank you," Arabeth said to her shoes.

Gil shrugged. "I should be thanking you; you just saved me from yet more humiliation at my own hands. I can use all the help I can get."

She finally glanced up at him so he shot her a genuine smile because she was awfully pretty, and he felt connected to her in some small way.

Arabeth blushed so bright and so fast it nearly blinded Gil, and he found himself laughing until she turned away quickly, shoulders slumped then handed him his coffee without looking up.

_Crap--he really was bad with girls_.

He tried to get her attention again, to apologize for being a complete bonehead, to try to make that connection again, but his father stepped between them to retrieve his own cup of coffee.

"I hope you are planning to be on your best behavior this morning--no more of this tomfoolery with Prince Sturmvoraus."

Gil's mouth tightened into a thin line at the mention of Tarvek and the day before like he could forget even after being drugged which was something he was not going to mention to his father ever.

"The apprentice position is a learning experience more than anything and one of the most important lessons you must learn in politics is dealing with people you find absolutely reprehensible."

Well, he knew Tarvek well enough; Gil only nodded and sipped his coffee.

"Leading is about more than control-"

"Leading isn't about control at all," Gil said suddenly, surprising them both. He groaned inwardly--obviously, he was still feeling the effects of the drugs because never in a million years would he interrupt his father like that and definitely not with something so obviously confrontational.

His father sipped his coffee a moment, eyebrow raised then motioned for Gil to follow him to their seats at the empty head table. "Care to elaborate on your statement?"

Gil swallowed the hot liquid, scalding his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he said quickly, feeling his face burn as hot as the coffee.

"No," his father said, "please continue--I'd like to hear your opinion on leadership."

"You would?" Gil could never be sure if his father was serious or testing him in some way that would come back to bite him in the ass or humiliate him or both--usually both.

His father nodded. "Of course."

Gil took a deep breath feeling suddenly very exposed and also five-years-old and terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing. "Well," he finally said, spinning his nearly empty cup between his hands, “a 'leader' by definition doesn't control the people under him. Leaders lead--they guide through their actions and intellect. You're not really much of a leader if the only way you can get anything done is by iron-clad control of wills. That's not a leader--that's a dictator."

He forced his hands to stop shaking and slowly looked up at his father--it wasn't often that he contradicted anything the man said, and he was more than a little scared to find out what would happen, but his father only nodded.

"A very astute observation although there are times when speeches and persuasion can go only so far."

"I suppose that's true," Gil said glumly.

His father squeezed his shoulder. "But a good leader knows when to lead and when to dictate for the greater good, and if you are good at the former than the latter is rarely needed."

A swell of pride Gil had never experienced before nearly overwhelmed his senses as he fought to keep his head on straight and his expression neutral lest his father know how much his approval meant.


	12. Chapter 12

He was saved from the internal struggle by the rear door opening, attracting the Baron's attention.

"Ah, Aaronev," he said, getting up, "I trust you had a peaceful rest."

The Prince huffed and headed straight for his seat. "Tarvek, get me a coffee," he grumbled then started going through his papers giving the Baron a belated, "good morning, Klaus."

His father sat back next to him, raising an amused eyebrow as he sipped his own coffee. Gil bit back a smile because he was sure they were both thinking the same thing--the Prince was obviously not a morning person.

He watched as the servants settled pastries around the man but otherwise gave him a wide berth as others nervously gave morning reports on castle-affairs. Tarvek returned with the coffee and waited for further instructions while being mostly ignored until the man spit the coffee back into the cup.

"This is cold!"

Everyone in the room froze as the man's face grew redder.

"I'll get you another cup," Tarvek mumbled, but his father snatched the cup away from him and marched over to the coffee engine where Arabeth began fiddling with the machine.

"Is this not working?" he demanded the terrified girl.

"It was fine a moment ago, Your Highness." She fiddled with a dial, hands shaking then bumped into a knob that clattered to the floor. "I- I'm so so- sorry," she mumbled, bending to get the knob and nearly knocking a tray of cups from the table.

The Prince sighed. "Do you even know how to work this machine--it'd delicate, perhaps beyond your scope of office."

"I-"

Gil was on his feet before he was even thinking which explains ninety percent of the catastrophes he found himself involved in. "It's my fault, Your Highness," he said, snatching the knob up and easily fitting it back into place. "It's just such a magnificent engine--I couldn't help taking a closer look even though Arabeth warned me--I just never listen when it comes to brilliant machinery; did you build this yourself, sir?"

The Prince stared at him a moment as if trying to decide between indignation at being interrupted while reprimanding his servant or delight at the flattery--the flattery apparently won. "It is one of my designs, yes. Do you like it?"

"It is rather elegant, but-"

Oops, Gil thought as the delight morphed back into indignation and quickly spilled over into annoyed distrust.

"But?"

Across the room, the Baron simply raised an eyebrow, apparently entertained by Gil's foot launching squarely into his mouth again--he probably thought it another test. Just beyond him, Tarvek vacillated between outrage and shock, eyes narrowed dangerously at Gil.

He swallowed hard and dragged his attention back to the Prince who was quite possibly considering ways to imprison him for his impertinence and get away with it. Gil sucked in his pride and every bit of sparky energy snapping to be let loose then let out a slow breath. "But I think I might have knocked something loose when I was checking it out."

He started flipping switches and removing dials despite the Prince's huffs and squeaks of distress. "It's totally my fault--I'm really klutzy."

"What are you doing?" the Prince squawked when he knocked the entire front panel loose.

"Oops; see what I mean?" Gil fumbled with the panel with one hand while quickly replacing pieces he'd noticed ill-connected earlier all while babbling on about being an idiot to distract the Prince. For added effect, he accidentally dropped the panel into the Prince's outstretched arms then snagged his sleeve on a set of springs, sending them bouncing everywhere.

While Arabeth and some of the other servants darting around picking them up, Gil got a chance to completely rewire the interior, making the entire engine at least thirty-three percent more efficient by his estimates. Once the springs were returned, he squeezed them back into place, snatched the panel from the befuddled prince and snapped it back into place with a loud, "ta-da!"

Everyone just stared at until he reached over and flipped the switch to turn it back on. The engine began chugging softly. A moment later, a cloud of steam puffed from a pipe in the back while a whistle played a jolly tune indicating the machine was ready.

Arabeth shakily placed a cup beneath one of the spouts and pressed a button, allowing the steaming coffee to dispense.

She added several sugar cubes and a generous dollop of cream before handing it over to the Prince.

He eyed it, sniffed it, then set the cup gently to his lips. The entire room seemed to wait on bated breath for his first taste and only relaxed after he'd sipped and replaced the cup on the saucer with a satisfied sigh.

He glanced at Gil, smile fading from his worn face. "Be more careful next time."

With that, he headed back to the table leaving Gil to slump against the engine.  _That was close._

"You forgot some pieces," Arabeth said, sliding several cogs and a slightly unwound spring his way.

 _Very close_.

Gil shot her a lopsided grin as he stuffed the loose pieces into his pocket before filling two more cups of coffee and returning to the table, passing one to the Baron while placing the other in front of his own chair which now sat next to a very disgruntled looking Tarvek.

"Morning," Gil said as brightly as he could muster knowing full-well it would annoy Tarvek who had never been a morning person either.

As expected, Tarvek only grunted a reply then proceeded to ignore Gil completely while they went through notes from the day before--most of which Gil had missed.

Despite his raging headache, still mostly-fuzzy memories of the night before and exhaustion, Gil kept up the jovial attitude as the morning progressed, often humming or whistling to himself as he worked until Tarvek finally snapped, slamming his hand down between them and spilling coffee all over his notes.

"Ugh," he shouted, hopping up to get a napkin while Gil bit back a smile.

When he glanced up, his father was watching him with a less-than-amused expression that sobered Gil some--he was in enough trouble as it was so time to call a truce. Or at the least, be less annoying. He picked up Tarvek's mug just as he got back with a napkin and refilled it, letting Arabeth add the correct sugar and cream.

Tarvek only glared at it suspiciously once Gil set it in front of him.

"It's not poisoned or anything," Gil said just to see what kind of reaction he would get.

Tarvek just moved his glare from the coffee to Gil but said nothing so Gil shrugged and went back to work.

_Can't say I didn't try._ _And why should I even have to try?_ _He was the one that drugged me int he first place._

Gil frowned, reaching for his cup just as Tarvek’s arm bumped his, sloshing coffee all over Gil's neatly transcribed notes.

"Hey, you did that on purpose."

"I did not--you're just a big klutz."

It took every ounce of control to not toss the remains of his coffee in Tarvek's smug face. "Very mature," he muttered, blotting the mess with the sleeve of his thankfully-dark brown jacket getting a snort of derision from the immaculately pressed and dressed Tarvek.

Fine if that's the way he wanted things--Gil could be as petty as the next spoiled prince. As soon as Tarvek's back was turned, Gil slipped Tarvek's napkin from the edge of the table and used it to wipe the grease from the cogs in his pocket, quickly replacing it before Tarvek returned to his papers.

Sure enough, as soon as Tarvek took a sip of coffee, he wiped his mouth with the corner of the napkin. Gil refused to look at him until Arabeth came over to refill their coffees, stumbling to a stop in front of Tarvek and nearly spilling coffee down the front of her.

Her eyes went wipe before she found something else to look at, filled their cups and scurried away, shoulders heaving with suppressed laughter. Tarvek watched, brows furrowed then turned towards Gil setting off a burst of giggles that got his father's attention.

The Baron's eyebrows shot up while the corner of his mouth twitched. He tapped his cheek until Tarvek frowned then touched his own mouth, his fingers coming away greasy.

"Tarvek, what is on your face?" the Prince said suddenly. "Go wash up before anyone sees you like this."

"Yes, Father." Tarvek trudged out of the room, head down.

Arabeth returned to collect the dirty napkin and empty cups, replacing everything just as Tarvek returned.

Gil licked his thumb and tried to press it to Tarvek's cheek. "Missed a spot."

Tarvek smacked his hand away so hard he slammed his arm into the back of his chair, cracking his funny bone. Both the Baron and Prince looked up as Gil fought the pain lancing up and own his arm.

Gil sucked in a breath, forcing a smile on his face then tried to concentrate on his paperwork again until the adults looked away except he couldn't find his pen.

"I think you must have dropped it while you were flailing like an idiot."

"I'm sure," Gil muttered, leaning under the table for the pen which Tarvek conveniently kicked just as Gil reached for it then set his foot down on Gil's fingers.

"Ow! Son of a bi-" He sat back up, banging his head on the table in the process and shoved his sore fingers in his mouth as he glared at Tarvek. His outburst got his father's attention again, though, so he just got up quietly to pick up his pen that had rolled across the floor on the other side of the table.

Arabeth bit back a smile as she walked past with a tray of coffees and pastries and Gil snagged a couple sugar cubes as she passed before returning to his seat.

They managed to work a solid twenty minutes without incident before the other summit members began to arrive and things got busy again. When Tarvek got up to run a paper to another table, Gil pulled the sugar from his pocket and scraped it into a tiny pile of granules that he quickly added to Tarvek's inkwell,

Tarvek sat back down, dipped his pen in the ink then paused at a bit of sugar on the table before swiping it away with the back of his hand and filling his pen.

At that moment, the Baron stood, calling the meeting to order. Gil fidgeted in his seat while he tried to pay attention to the speech, but once you've heard one, "I'm so honored to be here among these great rulers of Europa," speech, you've heard them all. It seemed like an eternity before his father sat down and the Prince took his turn to give back-handed compliments the Baron ignored and talk himself up some more.

 _How do people even stand it_ , Gil wondered like he did every time he had to sit through proceedings like this.  _How will I ever stand it? I'm not cut out of this kind of thing_.

It was the one thing Gil was absolutely sure about but his father had other ideas so here he was pretending to be something he wasn't and being something he didn't want to be and doing it because what choice did he really have?

He glanced at Tarvek out of the corner of his eye, noting the faraway expression and mild boredom in his face and wondered if he ever felt the same way. Probably not since Tarvek had been born and bred to be the successor to his father--it was all he ever knew and was probably really good at it.

As if he needed another reason to dislike him.

Finally, the Prince brought the meeting to order and Gil prepared to actually pay attention and take notes like a good little apprentice. If this is what he was meant to be then he would do it the best he could as always so no more fooling around.

"ACK!"

Everything stopped as Tarvek screeched, reaching for his napkin that wasn't there anymore. His hands were covered in dark black ink as well as splotches all across his paper and trickling unimpeded from his pen.

Prince Aaronev huffed then motioned a servant over to replace the pen and paper. On Gil's other side, his father sighed, giving Gil the impression that he somehow knew this was all Gil's fault so Gil went back to rewriting notes as neatly as humanly possible while Tarvek's mess was cleared up.

When things were back on course, Gil glanced over and the dark look Tarvek gave him made no mistakes--he knew Gil was to blame. Gil just shrugged like he didn't care if Tarvek thought he did something and went back to his notes.

Tarvek started to dip his new pen into his ink but paused then reached past Gil forcing him to sit back and pulled the other inkwell between them. Neither said anything as they went to work, but Gil could feel the tension growing and knew it was only a matter of time before Tarvek blew up.

The key was going to be making it look like Gil had nothing to do with any of it--tricky, but he could figure something out. Several times over the next hour, Tarvek attempted to knock into Gil to make him spill his drink or smudge his notes, but Gil was waiting for it every time.

His childhood had the benefit of always keeping him on his toes and expecting the worst from people all while managing to appear like he was completely in control if anyone cared to look. He could tell Tarvek was growing aggravated though which thrilled him more than it should.

Another hour passed and Gil forgot all about his feud with Tarvek as he concentrated on his notes and the Baron's required commentary and code in the margin right up until recess was called and Tarvek leaned back with a sigh. He stretched, his arm bumping Gil's shoulder and sending his pen sliding all the way across his paper and smearing the line of text he'd just written.

He scowled at Tarvek but didn't get a chance to say anything before his father was sighing over the paper. "This is unacceptable work, Herr Holzfäller."

Gil sunk down in his seat, biting back a scathing retort that would only land him in more trouble. While everyone took a short break to stretch their legs, Gil sat at the table, copying his notes onto a fresh sheet of paper. He glanced down at Tarvek's empty seat with a grin then set about copying the floral pattern with his black ink, finishing just before everyone returned.

Tarvek came back, setting a glass of water on the table far from Gil then sat in his pretty blue suit, checked his papers, pen, and ink for tampering then stared straight ahead, ready to work.

Gil bit his lip and hurried to finish his copies before his father sat on his other side to inspect the notes piled in a less-than-tidy fashion. 

The morning meeting continued in boring agony after that, both Gil and Tarvek too busy to consider their ongoing feud. When lunch was finally announced, Gil dropped his pen and shook out his tired hand. His stomach growled at the thought of anything more substantial than coffee, but before he could make his escape, one of the Prince's assistants hurried over and began whispering.

"Problem, Aaronev?" the Baron asked as he sorted his own papers into labeled folders.

"It appears two more of the transcribers have fallen ill--it's going to set things back most of the day unless I can find some more translators."

"Holzfäller knows French," Tarvek said as he straightened the last of his notes and set his pen on top of them.

Gil froze as both the adults turned towards him.

"Really?" asked Prince Aaronev suspiciously, setting Gil's pride on edge.

"Among others," he said before he could stop himself and regretting it immediately because he just made things worse as always.

The Prince's smile morphed to something a lot less friendly. "Really?" he said again. "That would be most helpful, if you don't mind, Klaus?"

"Of course not--I'm sure Herr Holzfäller would be honored to help, and I'm sure he could use the practice."

Gil shot his father a look that was of course ignored but managed to get his emotions under control before turning back to the Prince. "I would be most honored," Gil said through clenched teeth.

"And I'm sure," the Baron continued, "he'd greatly appreciate the help of your son in his endeavor."

Tarvek's head snapped up while the Prince considered the request.

Gil was sure there were about fifty levels of politicking going on that he didn't understand at the moment, but if it meant Tarvek had to suffer with him than he didn't care.

Finally, the Prince nodded. "You know, Klaus, I do believe Tarvek could use the extra practice as well, and maybe the two of them will be in a much more agreeable fashion this afternoon then."

The Baron smiled slightly. "Agreed."

Gil groaned but accepted his fate with as much grace as his growling stomach could muster. Tarvek was less tolerant of the situation as he got up, shoving his chair back with a screech and grabbing his stack of papers rather violently.

"Show the boys to the library, please," the Prince said to one of the guards then went back to discussing something with the Baron.

Tarvek stomped off ahead of Gil giving him a great view of the pretty floral pattern now inked into his expensive trousers. Several other servants, including Arabeth, giggled as he walked by, but none pointed out the problem so Gil kept his mouth shut.

This time he managed to keep track of their path to a large, functionary library--two lefts, across a courtyard, a right and down a flight of stairs--as they walked. He was sure he must have seen most of the castle by now with all of his wandering and secret passage tours, and yet, he could barely remember any of it which worried him.

Stuff always happened when you were least prepared--or maybe it seemed like that because when you were prepared, you didn't notice everything going wrong. Either way, Gil was sure he was being set up for a really bad day which all started the moment he was told about this stupid summit.

They were led to a long table set with books, papers, and wells in the corner of the library. Several other tables were already occupied by at least a dozen other people, furiously scribbling translations.

Gil dropped next to a frazzled looking young woman who had a pen sticking out of her bun and ink smeared across her nose; Tarvek took the empty seat next to him. Across the table sat twin dark-haired men with matching streaks of shocking white at their temples. They passed papers back and forth between them without speaking.

Gil glanced at all of them then at the pile of papers at the center of the table. "Um, so what are we doing here?" he asked the girl who screeched, snatched the pen from her hair and nearly impaled his hand with it before returning to her work.

Gil lurched away from her, landing in Tarvek's lap. Tarvek shoved him off just as one of the twins grabbed a paper from a stack and slammed in front of Gil before passing the one in front of himself to his brother who then took a different paper from another stack and handed it to Gil.

"These here need to be translated to those languages," the second twin said while passing his paper back to his brother.

That brother added, "when you're done you put them over there."

Gil glanced at the sheet in front of him--a transcription of part of the morning meeting currently written in Romanian--then at the paper handed to him which just had a list of languages with different ones crossed off.

"Okay, seems simple enough." He handed the translation sheet to Tarvek to look over then grabbed a pen.

"I'll take the French," Tarvek said, crossing something off on the list then set to work on a section of notes.

"Really?" Gil said, rolling his eyes getting a snort from Tarvek. "Fine, I guess I'll do the Russian then." It was the only language without any names next to it.

All four faces at the table looked up at him then the girl mumbled something in several languages about being crazy before going back to work.

"What? I like a challenge," Gil said with a smirk.

"Show off," Tarvek muttered as they all got to work.

Gil was on his second page when his stomach made an urgent and very loud noise. "So, are they going to, like, serve lunch in here or-"

"You eat when you're done," one of the twins said, tapping the pile of untranslated papers in front of Gil that was quite a bit taller than the others.

Tarvek snorted. "How's that showing off working for you?"

Gil dragged another paper over as his stomach continued to protest. "You know," he said quietly, "not all of us got to have a jaunty morning snack today--some of us were too nervous to eat all day before being forced to this summit and didn't get to eat lunch while being dragged around for a castle tour and were drugged at dinner so they couldn't taste anything and missed breakfast because someone smeared ink all over their paper." The words tumbled out, and by the end, he was spitting them out through clenched teeth while everyone stared.

He ducked his head. "I'm just saying."

They worked in frantic silence other than Gil's growling stomach for a good hour. He'd made a significant dent in his pile, but there was no way he was finishing in time to find any food before he had to return for the afternoon meetings; and to make that very clear, someone came in and dropped another pile on top of Gil's stack.

Gil groaned, letting his head hit the table repeatedly--maybe it would knock some sense into him for next time he wanted to show off. Someday he might actually learn a lesson, but for now, he sucked it up, reaching for another paper to translate at the same time Tarvek pulled one from the top of Gil's pile.

Gil frowned then noticed Tarvek's pile was empty and several of the other translators had already left to lunch.


	13. Chapter 13

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Tarvek said without looking up from the paper.

"You know exactly what I mean--you're done with your work."

"You're not."

Gil wanted to throttle him. "I didn't ask for your help."

"Duly noted."

Tarvek took another paper that Gil snatched away from him, tearing it nearly in half. "Let me rephrase that in a way your small brain will understand--I don't want your help.

Taking another sheet, Tarvek snorted. "You don't want it, but you definitely need it if you plan to eat any time today."

Gil growled--hating Tarvek even more for being right. "Now all of a sudden you care about my well-being," he said as he quickly translated--ironically--a page of lunch menus.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means," Gil spat, slamming the finished page onto his pile.

"I really don't."

Across the table, the twins had paused to watch the exchanged then pressed their heads together to whisper in what sort of sounded like Gerrman but not quite, reminding Gil of a paper he read about secret twin languages used to send coded messages during wars. Whey they noticed Gil glaring they suddenly gathered their piles and relocated to a now empty table across the room.

"You're really good at that," the girl next to him said.

"What?" Gil asked, face scrunched in confusion.

Tarvek leaned past him to see the girl, a little smirk on his face. "I think she means being a loser."

Gil turned his glare back at Tarvek. "Nobody was talking to you."

Tarvek laughed as he pulled another sheet to translate towards him. "That's okay: I'm too busy doing your job for you anyway."

Gil really wanted to know what the girl had meant, but he wanted, even more, to put Tarvek in his place so he grabbed the paper, leaving a streak of ink across it from where Tarvek had been writing."

"I told you I don't need any help--go be a royal pain somewhere else."

The girl giggled, getting their attention again. "Maybe he wants to show off, too, huh?"

Gil sighed. "He does like to do that so it wouldn't surprise me."

"Oh shut up, Holzfäller and let me help you."

Gil opened his mouth, but his stomach grumbled loudly in answer first getting a snort from Tarvek.

"See, your gut agrees with me. The quicker we finish, the quicker we can both go to lunch."

"Like any of this means anything to you," Gil told him, sliding a paper over. "They're not going to keep you from eating if you want to."

Tarvek huffed. "You don't know my father--he delights in using me as an example for, well, everything."

"That's true," said the girl as she gathered her pen and files, leaving without elaborating.

Gil shook his head, sending the ache ricocheting around his brain and down his neck. "Whatever--I'm too tired to argue since I was up all night fighting off those drugs."

"Again with the drugs," Tarvek said through gritted teeth. "I hate to break it to you, Holzfäller, but you're not important enough for anyone to drug."

 _Ha_! Gil thought.

"It was probably something you ate like Anevka said."

"Ah, but you already said I didn't eat anything."

"Then we're back to you being a lousy drunk."

Gil growled under his breath-- _he couldn't be this dense for real, could he_? "I wasn't drunk."

Tarvek huffed. "How could you tell?"

Gil slammed his hand down, rattling the ink wells and fluttering several papers from the top of the pile to the floor. "Because I wasn't stumbling around the castle attacking random, innocent people."

Once again, everyone was staring at Gil--everyone except Tarvek who sat very still until a drop of ink from his poised pen splattered his otherwise immaculate sheet of paper.

Gil could feel the other translators, including the twins, waiting for one of them to explode. They'd probably heard the rumors and knew exactly what Gil was talking about and wanted to see a repeat with their own eyes. It wasn't until they got bored and went back to work that Tarvek finally moved, uselessly blotting the now-dry ink spot then continuing his translation.

When he didn't say anything, Gil sighed, picked up the fallen sheets and set back to work.

Several minutes passed before Tarvek finally spoke, voice low and even. "I wasn't stumbling, it wasn't random, and we both know you're not innocent."

Gil rolled his eyes nearly out of his head. "Seriously? Five years and you're still on about that? The Baron did say no one can hold a grudge like royalty." 

* * *

 

Gil paused in his writing. ”Of course, he was mostly talking about princesses, but the thought still applies."

And then he turned that stupid, vibrant smile at Tarvek making his skin crawl--or maybe that was a tingle. Either way, Tarvek hated it and that smile.  _Should have knocked a couple of his teeth out; that would have fixed the problem_. Tarvek directed his anger at his paper, tearing several small holes with his pen tip before he calmed himself with breathing exercises.

Letting Holzfäller have this kind of effect on him only made things, worse and the fact that Gil was right about him acting like a spoiled brat only added to his foul mood. He needed to get back the upper hand in this conversation.

"You sound just like him, you know--the Baron? He must be so proud--his little despot-in-training."

Gil slapped his finished paper onto the stack with enough force to tip it, compelling Tarvek to catch them before the papers went everywhere.

"The Baron brought peace to Europa," Gil said under his breath, "just like everyone wanted."

"At the cost of our freedom," Tarvek countered.

"Oh, please. Freedom to overtax your kingdoms and start pointless wars over petty issues like... who gets to claim purple as their official state color? You lost so much," Gil said, rolling his eyes. "The Baron charges a very reasonable tax, and in return, maintains the roads, keeps the air safe from pirates, and settles your ridiculous disputes fairly, and you get to maintain rule over your own territories. What more do you want?"

Tarvek blinked at him in surprise and a touch of admiration at his poise and dedication then pulled himself together with a shake of his head. "You know, I was joking about you sounding like the Baron," he said, "but you really do sound like him. You swallowed the Empire line hook, line and sinker, huh?"

Gil smiled. "You're just mad I'm right. You know this summit and all of the meetings are pointless because the Baron saved your asses and keeps them safe--fairly.”

Tarvek tossed his pen to the side before he snapped it in half in frustration. "What do you know about it? You don't have family or lands-"

"Wow," Gil interrupted, "I don't remember you being this stuck up, but you do love to remind me of my place in society don't you?"

Tarvek frowned and ducked his head. For once, he hadn't meant it as a jab at Gil's status, he'd just been trying to make a point that Gil wouldn't understand because he lives on the Baron's flying city.

Across the table, someone cleared their throat. "Begging your pardon, Master Tarvek, but the afternoon meeting will begin shortly." The young man in a Sturmhalten clerk's uniform wrung his hands as he glanced everywhere but at the boys.

"We're not done," Gil said lamely as his stomach gurgled in protest loud enough for everyone to hear.

Tarvek sighed and stood. "I'm sure it will still be here tonight to finish."

Gil looked up, eyes wide and tired. "You think they'll make us do this again?"

Tarvek cocked his head. "Did you miss the part where I said my father loves to make an example of me?" He glanced around the room as the other translators hurried to finish or cleaned up then back to the clerk. "Everyone else is returning later, yes?"

The man nodded grimly like he hated confirming this information.

"Then my father will make me come back too and I'm sure the Baron-"

"Won't want to look soft and let me off the hood," Gil finished, leaning back with a groan.

Just then a horn sounded, signaling the beginning of the afternoon meetings, throwing the room into a flurry of activity as people gathered their notes and darted about.

Gil slowly stacked his pile, righting the edges repeatedly for no reason except to stall. Well, Tarvek wasn't wasting any more time or getting into any more trouble over Gilgamesh Holzfäller; it was his own fault for trying to show off. Leaving Gil to pout or whatever it was he was doing, Tarvek joined the exodus into the hall and tried to ignore his own growling stomach which had thankfully remained quiet in the library.

He passed a group of maids who immediately averted their gaze even as they mumbled a proper if hollow greeting, but then they started giggling as he passed. Tarvek tried to ignore them and everyone else that kept staring just like he ignored his stomach, but he couldn't help but notice the inordinate amount of staring.

Maybe he'd become jaded over his life, but he swore they were all pointing and laughing more than usual. He nodded at several of the other apprentices standing at the entrance of the summit room.

They returned polite nods, but as soon as he passed they burst into laughter fueling his growing paranoia.  _Whatever--let them laugh_ , he told himself like he always did when things got to him.  _They're just jealous_. Not that he really believed that because there really wasn't anything to be jealous of.

He held his head high as he crossed the room, leaving a wake of whispers behind that he tried to convince himself he was imagining. The head table was empty, but he took his seat anyway, straightening his supplies and going over his notes from earlier.

He ran his fingers over a post of splattered ink with a frown. It was only the second day of the summit and his first day working with Holzfäller and already things were a mess--figuratively and literally. They would only get worse unless Tarvek figured out a way to deal with the situation.

He figured he had one of two options--suck it up and get along with Gil for the rest of the week or expose him for the fraud he was and get him fired and out of Tarvek's house. "A" was shaping up to be the easier plan considering Gil didn't seem to be in any trouble despite the fight and his abhorrent, drunken behavior last night.

There had to be some logical reason the Baron would choose a nobody like Holzfäller as his apprentice--Tarvek just couldn't see it. Gil had to have gotten into a lot of trouble after the vault break in. Tarvek assumed the only reason Gil wasn't kicked out, too, was he had nowhere else to go although it was still odd that the Baron kept him around at all when he usually sent orphans to live with loyalists he trusted.

 _Why was Holzfäller different_? The eternal question that had haunted him since that night.

He supposed he could solve the mystery right now by just asking, but he doubted he'd get a straight answer from anyone--the Baron's people were far too secretive and afraid of him to reveal any useful information. So he couldn't ask outright, but he could do a little snooping of his own into the matter, and he had just the person to help.

* * *

 

"Again," commanded the trainer as he wandered among the lines of Smoke Knights in a cavern deep below Sturmhalten Castle.

Violetta concentrated on her technique and let the routine take over: lunge, jab, duck, roll, kick, retreat, side-step, kick. She swung in a graceful arc, her leg slicing through the air silently, getting an approving nod from the trainer as he passed.

Her pride was only fleeting as her foot caught on her cloak a moment later, sending her off balance and dancing to the right to stay on her feet just as everyone else dodged left. She slammed into Misha--a dark, lanky Knight she actually wasn't related to in any way.

He hissed, baring physically pointed teeth that gave him a monstrous, otherworldly appearance. From behind, someone smacked her head, toppling her completely over, but she managed to roll with her momentum and pop back onto her feet.

"Back to your station, runt," Viktor, one of her many cousins, said with a sneer.

Violetta growled but hurried to her spot in line and fell back into the routine. Lunge, jab, duck, roll, kick, retreat, side-step, kick, backflip. 

 _Wait, backflip_?

She'd been doing this routine daily for five years and knew there was no backflip yet that's what the trainer called. She processed it all in a matter of seconds, her body responding out of instinct as she hopped back, bending at the waist to land on her hands and bounce effortlessly over onto her feet again in the ready position.

The room filled with groans and muttered curses. It looked like only about a quarter of the class actually followed the trainer's instructions, causing the half that continued the drilled routine to run into them while the other fourth were caught completely off guard and just stopped in confusion.

"Halt," the trainer shouted, ending the various disputes erupting over wounded egos more than physical injuries. "What just happened?"

The students returned to their positions in silence, but the trainer obviously wanted an answer. He walked the lines, frowning at anyone even a centimeter out of place and stopping in front of Viktor. "Well?"

Viktor raised his chin. "I'm not sure, Herr Delmeck--it appears some people messed up their training."

He side-eyed Violetta in front of him with a smirk directing the trainer's attention to her. She grit her teeth, eyes snapping forward again as she straightened to her full, miserably tiny height that barely came above Herr Delmeck's waist.

"What do you have to say about this Miss Mondarev?"

Violetta swallowed hard--she hated having unwanted attention on her, but she was so good at attracting it. "The routine changed," she said with almost no nervous wobble to her voice.

Delmeck rested his hands behind his back and cocked his head. "By definition, routines don't change,"

"This one did."

Delmeck's eyebrow shot up as Viktor and his friends barely smothered their laughter.

Violetta took a deep breath and let it out slowly--someday she'd learn to keep her mouth shut. "You said, 'backflip,' Herr Delmeck, but there isn't a backflip in the routine."

"Interesting--are you sure?"

"Yes, sir, very sure."

Viktor stilled, his snickering tapering off as he must have realized his mistake.

"And how did you respond to the change in routine, Miss Mondarev?" 

"I back-flipped," she said, holding her head high.

"And you, Reinstein, what did you do?"

Viktor bit his lip hard before finally answering. "I spun left."

"Why?"

"Because that's how the routine goes, and you just said routines don't change by definition, sir." There was the faintest bit of a question in his tone.

"Miss Mondarev, why did you do the backflip?"

Violetta frowned-- _was this a trick question_? Tarvek said they were always trying to shake the students up--to keep them on their toes so to speak. There was no point in second-guessing herself now. "Because that's what you said to do so I did it."

Delmeck nodded thoughtfully then strolled back to the front of the room. "Ready position," he called getting a groan from some of the younger trainees.

Violetta settled into the position--a half crouch, weight on the balls of your feet, elbows at ninety degrees.

"How many of you heard me call for the flip?" Delmeck now asked, turning to face them. About half the class raised their hands. "Position three, if you will."

As a group, the sixteen of them rolled forward and balanced on their right foot, left leg extended, arms behind them. Delmeck slowly paced the perimeter of the squad as if they had all the time in the world.

Violetta guessed from his perspective they did, but right now she couldn't see it through the trickle of sweat that slid down her forehead, into her eye, and dripped from her cheek as she fought her own muscles to stay balanced.

"Now we have an interesting dilemma," Delmeck continued. "Two competing theories of instruction have been exposed by the insertion of a new command. Some of you continued the routine despite the new direction because that's the way it's always been done--position four."

Three kids swept their outstretched foot around to the back and switched their weight to their arms, now resting in a lowered push-up. Viktor remained in the ready position, his legs shaking with the effort to maintain the stance as he apparently hadn't even heard the change in routine to begin with.

"Some of you immediately reacted, changing your routine to match the commands--position seven."

Violetta forced her muscles into action, rolling back over her head and into a handstand before lowering her toes to just barely touch the ground--her body in a reverse "v." Her nearly numb right leg thanked her even as her arms began to strain.

Delmeck passed her to stand in front of Misha, eyes narrowed. "And some of you heard the command and froze like confused field mice first hearing the owl's eerie cry in the night--position nine."

When Misha didn't immediately move, Delmeck shoved his forehead sending him onto his back. "You're dead, Herr Dohvoshki--the owl has eaten you in your foolish hesitation."

Misha sighed and reluctantly got into position--flat as a board balanced on just his hands under him.

"The question now for you to ponder is which reaction was correct, and I'll be clear from the start that Herr Dohvoshki was not correct. In the field which would be beneficial--following routine or following orders?"

Violetta wasn't sure Delmeck actually expected an answer and wished Tarvek was here because he was always five steps ahead of everyone and always knew what to say or do. He would have already worked out the answer instead of sitting there watching the sweat pool beneath his face.

It was a long time before Violetta realized Delmeck wasn't waiting for an answer because he wasn't even in the room anymore.  _Now what_? she wondered, sure only that this was some kind of test.

Slowly, the other students realized the same thing. Violetta could hear hushed conversations around the cavern about what to do--did they hold the poses or give up? She didn't care what the others did because she wasn't moving until her muscles gave out.

Through her legs, she watched Viktor let out a long breath, blowing a fringe of damp bangs from his red face before collapsing onto his back to stretch out his trembling legs.

He lifted his head enough to see her then scowled. "This is your fault, runt."

 _How did he figure that_? She didn't ask out loud, though, because Delmeck hadn't given them permission to speak any more than he had to move before disappearing. For all they knew, he was watching from a dark corner.

No, Violetta wouldn't give up that easily like Misha who set himself on the ground and twisted his sore wrists at his side while muttering curses. She decided to use the time to go over her other recent failures which seemed to be the theme of the week.

The argument with Tarvek weighed heavily on her mind and heart which just made her angry because she wasn't supposed to care what the idiot thought of her. Her training was to keep him alive any means necessary and that didn't include being his friend. She hated that she cared what he thought--that he made her hurt this much, but she didn't know how to stop; she couldn't turn her feelings off like Tarvek could.

Then she'd somehow exposed her position to Martellus so he caught her spying. It was like he had a sixth sense about those things which was even more reason to dislike him. She had almost gotten away if it wasn't for Tarvek and that fight. Now she had to figure out what Martellus was up to while he was on to her. Not impossible but considerably trickier.

Then there was Holzfäller.

She frowned at the spot of darkened stone directly beneath her face. The potion should have worked on him--she even gave him a double dose, but she couldn't get him to tell her anything. Her instinct was to go to Tarvek because he'd be able to figure out where she went wrong without making her feel like a dumb child. Not being on speaking terms was hard on more levels than she anticipated.

Her vials weren't labeled because that gave too much potential information to the enemy, but she was sure she used the correct one. That left two possible scenarios--there was something wrong with the potion or Holzfäller had a high resistance to mind control which sounded ridiculous.

Smoke Knights trained for decades to withstand their own drugs--Holzfäller was just some kid who didn't even know what Smoke Knights were. Violetta reluctantly had to conclude that the error was hers.

The truth serum worked by loosening the victim's inhibitions and resistance so they can't help but answer, but it worked best when the interrogator was seen as authoritative, and it was hard to be taken seriously when she was so small.

_So, as usual, the answer is I suck._

The room was suddenly abuzz with activity, making Violetta wonder how long she'd been lost in thought. She tried to find the source of the commotion without moving too much but didn't need to struggle much as a pair of legs in white trousers appeared before her.

"Well, what do we have here?" Martellus asked, squatting down to see her face. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, little dumpling?"

It took every ounce of will power not to nail him in his family jewels just for using their grandmother's nickname for her. He laughed and patted her head like a dog knowing how she hated to be patronized. Her muscles quivered with barely contained rage, but she still refused to move until Herr Delmeck gave his consent--this was now a battle of wills.


	14. Chapter 14

"Not taking the bait, huh?" he continued, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Aren't you just a dedicated little thing? I wonder how dedicated, though." He stood, rifling in his coat while his companions--probably the same idiots from yesterday--snickered at his side.

There was a swish of metal on metal that made all of the hairs on Violetta's arms stand up and then a dagger landed ten centimeters from her left pinky. She didn't flinch--just glared at the knife. More feet entered her field of view while interest grew in the confrontation. She was sure some people were taking bets, and she didn't like her odds at the moment.

Another knife landed with a thunk between her hands, setting off additional rounds of betting. She never hated anyone more than she hated Martellus at this moment--him and his stupid games and always trying to make Violetta look bad.

_What is his problem_? She very nearly gave in to the urge to blurt the question but bit her tongue instead to keep quiet.

A moment, later, a third knife dropped past her face, wedging in the ground between her thumb and forefinger on her right hand, getting the tiniest twitch in her fingers. Sweat coated her skin and dripped into her eyes, forcing her to blink to clear them. She wet her chapped lips, tasting the salt then swallowed hard.

Martellus disappeared behind her where a knife skimmed her leg, landing near her knee. Another settled near her left boot while a third suddenly appeared next to her wrist--this time drawing a trickle of blood.

"Oops," Martellus said, "did that hurt?"

Violetta called on every training exercise she normally despised to keep still and control her breathing. She wasn't too worried about Martellus right now--he wouldn't do anything to seriously injure her with all of these witnesses, but he would enjoy humiliating her which just fueled her need to show him a fool.

"Damn, I'm out of knives," Martellus called. "Anyone got a spare or three." He laughed at his own lame joke as the other kids clamored to appease his request.

Violetta focused on her reflection in the large dagger directly ahead of her and prepared for the next knife to drop, but Martellus decided to change things up. The knife he dangled before her was more of a small sword. He pressed the flat side to her forehead--the steel feeling cool to her clammy skin then slowly he slid it up then over the top of her head and across her back.

He settled it between her shoulder blades, hilt resting against her tailbone and the tip scraping her collar.

Martellus pressed his mouth to her ear--his breath hot and heavy. "You should really learn to mind your own business, Violetta."

The implied threat froze her insides, setting off panic alarms in her head.

“Let's see how still you can be," he said loud enough the crowd could hear. "That point is sitting a millimeter from your brain stem--the smallest tremor could move it which would be very, very bad for you, little dumpling."

Violetta's arms ached as she fought to keep still and the knife was heavy enough to throw her balance off--nevermind all of the blood that had been pooling in her head the last half hour. Worse than the physical pain was the edge of panic wedging into her subconscious. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this short of Martellus showing mercy which was a hell of a long shot.

Her only option was to hope she could hold out long enough that he just got bored because she knew no one was going to take her side over Martellus--not even her own brothers who were somewhere in the cavern already doing nothing.

If Tarvek were here...

But he wasn't, and she had told him she didn't need him to protect her. She almost laughed at the irony and redoubled her efforts because she didn't want Tarvek finding out about this and proving him right. It would go right to his already-fat head.

Martellus squatted down in front of her again and tapped her nose. "How you doing, Violetta? Ready to admit defeat--you just have to say the words."

_Not a chance in hell_ , she thought but kept her jaw clamped tight. Somewhere to her right, a boy shouted then a scuffle broke out, forcing the crowd to shift away from them. Violetta watched a boot come precariously close to stepping on her fingers. She still refused to move.

"Sounds like the natives are getting restless; you could get trampled. Just say the words and you're free to go. 'Martellus, you are so much better than me in every way, and I bow to your superiority.' Of course, you'll have to actually bow, too--it's only right."

Violetta rolled her eyes--he was so full of himself, and she bowed to no one except maybe Tarvek, but she worked for him, and there would need to be circumstances.

Someone suddenly bumped her side, causing the knife to slide down her back, the point now pricking her skin. A trickle of something slid over her neck, but she couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood.

"Uh-oh," Martellus said with a laugh that made her want to punch him.

Of course, most things he said and did made her want to punch him.

"What is the meaning of this," a voice boomed, echoing around the chamber.

The other students scrambled back to their stations, giving Violetta her first clear view of things. Several kids had stayed in their positions like Violetta, but most had given up and were now trying to decide if it was worth the effort to fake it.

Next to her, Misha lifted himself back onto his hands, but Viktor just stood at attention behind her. Martellus hopped to his feet, snatching the daggers from around her as he turned to the front of the room.

Herr Delmeck strolled purposefully through the chaotic lines. "Martellus von Blitzengaard, why am I not surprised? I was under the impression you graduated from my class already, but perhaps you've realized the sad conclusion that you don't know as much as you think you do."

"I've missed you, too, sir," Martellus answered smoothly.

"Then perhaps you'd care to join us."

Martellus started to walk away, the knives nowhere to be seen. "I'd love to, Herr Delmeck, but I'm needed at the summit."

"That wasn't a request, von Blitzengaard--in formation now."

Several kids snickered as Martellus cringed then slowly turned to take up the ready position next to Violetta.

Delmeck studied them a moment before returning to the head of the room. "Maybe you can help us in our lesson today."

"Which is?" asked Martellus sounding more bored than anything.

"We're having a discussion on the merits of routine versus spontaneity in the field. Half of the class believes in following routines because it's as it always has been while the other half responds to sudden changes because that's what was demanded. What are your opinions?"

Martellus thought it over a moment. "Routines, training, dedication-" he side-eyed Violetta "-are good starting points in any engagement. It's what you know and can keep you safe by reacting without thinking but being able to change based on circumstances is how you win because real life is nothing like training--it's unpredictable.

“On the other hand, following orders just because someone yells them could get you killed--you have to learn to trust your instincts.”

"Very good, Herr von Blitzengaard," Delmeck said with a nod.

"What?" Viktor shouted, his voice cracking in his apparent anger.

"Wait," said Misha, now sitting, "you mean there's no right answer. It didn't even matter if we followed the routine or did the flip?"

Delmeck stopped in front of Misha. "Ah, but you did neither, Herr Dohvoshki--you are dead."

"What was even the point?" asked Viktor.

"The point was to make you think. Training can take you only so far; you must learn to react to sudden changes, and as Martellus said, trust your instincts."

"Well, my instincts told me to be confused," Misha muttered.

"Yes, and that's why you are dead--your instincts need to be worth listening to before you act on them."

This got laughs from the other kids.

"Your instincts told you to follow my commands," he said to Violetta," because you trust me."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, ashamed of the way her voice quivered with exhaustion.

"And you stayed in this position because?"

Violetta swallowed hard, hoping her voice less croaky this time. "Because you didn't dismiss us yet."

Delmeck didn't respond right away, just strolled off.

"Such a suck up," Martellus said under his breath. "You learn that from Tarvek or does it come naturally?"

Violetta growled as her patience wore dangerously thin, but before she could give in to the urge to react, Delmeck returned to the front of the cavern.

"Class," he shouted, "at attention."

Despite her aching muscles, Violetta shot upright, back straight, arms at her side. Martellus and the others did the same without hesitation either.

"Violetta, Carmine, Delia, Warner, and Sanjay," Herr Delmeck called, "the five of you remained at your commanded positions even after I left and von Blitzengaard commandeered my class. I commend your dedication and your instinct to obey your trainer. You are al free to go."

Violetta let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing.

"The rest of you obviously need more lessons."

Not waiting to see what lessons the trainer had n mind, Violetta darted for the exit, snatching one of Martellus' daggers still in the floor near her foot. She bypassed the Smoke Knight dorms and didn't stop until she was on the other side of the castle.

Again, her instinct was to find Tarvek to tell him what happened so maybe Delmeck was wrong about her. She ignored the urge, instead, creeping through passages until she found her way to Tarvek's empty lab.

Chemistry wasn't her strong suit, but Tarvek had tutored her extensively for her last exam. That with the textbooks and equipment here she could try to analyze her potions to figure out what went wrong with her interrogation.

She laid her vials on a table then gathered her supplies using the lists Tarvek had her memorize for the tests then she stood there staring at the mess.

"I can do this," she said out loud but didn't feel much convinced. Before she could dwell further on her sure-to-be-failure, she forced herself to set up the burners and prepare samples like Tarvek showed her.

"I can do this," she repeated with more force. “I don't need Tarvek to hold my hand through everything." She still didn't sound too convincing but the longer she messed with the equipment, the more confident she felt

While the first test did its thing, Violetta finally allowed herself to relax, tossing her cloak onto a chair and stretching her sore shoulders. When her fingers brushed over a raised spot at the base of her skull, she vowed to make Martellus pay, and for that, she might have to ask Tarvek for help.

* * *

 

The afternoon meeting got off to a slow start. Gil skirted through the door just as the guards closed it, but the Baron and Prince weren't at the table. He took his seat beside Tarvek but neither acknowledged the other.

A servant arrived to fill the ink wells and deposit extra stacks of parchment then disappeared without a sound. Gil nearly asked the boy if he could get a snack--a piece of bread would do--but managed to hold his tongue. Minutes passed with nothing happening which gave Gil too much time to think about everything that had happened the last two days and wonder at what catastrophes lay ahead. 

He opened the folder in front of him and found his schedule for the week. Today's meeting was to end at six in the evening. According to the clock on the wall, it was half-past two--three and a half hours to go then no doubt countless more hours finishing his translations Tarvek had so kindly volunteered him for. Supper was to be served at seven in the guest dining hall or private quarters.

The next morning, smaller workshops were scheduled on various topics, but it looked like the Baron would be having private meetings. Gil didn't know what that meant for him--maybe more translating. More workshops and more meetings filled the afternoon with Thursday being more of the same.

Friday was another day of long meetings in the summit room with presentations by various apprentices. He groaned when he saw his own name penciled in at three--he had no idea what to do his presentation about. His father hadn't given him a choice when he made Gil an apprentice, but he'd thought it would be at least more exciting than school.

He was wrong.

With a sigh, he slipped the schedule behind his other papers and tapped the folder with his pen.  _Why weren't they starting yet_?

Having nothing to do was almost worse than having too much except he had things he could be doing like translating or eating or sleeping off the growing headache. His other fingers joined the rhythmless beat of his pen while his grumbling stomach offered a counterpoint.

Tarvek suddenly grabbed both his hands, crushing all of his fingers together then signaled with his other hand to a guard. "Do you have any idea what the delay is?" he asked the older man.

"Apparently several apprentices are missing--they're attempting to track them down."

"Who's missing?" Gil asked, struggling to free himself from Tarvek's grasp.

"I do not know, sir."

"Thank you, sergeant," Tarvek told him, waiting until he returned to his station before releasing Gil.

Gil swiped half-heartedly with his pen, but Tarvek easily deflected.

"Any idea who's not here?" he asked.

Tarvek glanced around the room--people were milling about, obviously curious of the delay and bored. "No."

"There's only like fifty of us and aren't you related to half of these people?"

Tarvek sighed like the teachers often did with the younger students on Castle Wulfenbach. "There are actually fifty-six including you and me, and I may be related to many of them, but I'm not their keepers."

Gil frowned at his folder. "Wait, there's fifty-five apprentices for the Fifty Families? Do you people even know how to count?"

"It's complicated," Tarvek said with another sigh.

"Family always is," Gil muttered then quickly added, "or so I've heard." A couple minutes passed before Gil found himself tapping again. "But weren't some of them sick?" he asked suddenly, remembering that detail from yesterday morning. "That would narrow the field."

"Holzfäller, let it go--I have no idea who isn't here."

"I'm bored," Gil protested, "work with me here."

Tarvek pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are you even here? Of all the people, why did the Baron choose you when you can't even sit still?" He grabbed Gil's tapping fingers again and squeezed. "I can't figure out his angle. Seventy-five percent of politics is tedium, and the rest is schmoozing and you can't handle either. All of your fumbling around just looks bad on him and the Empire, so why you?

“My only conclusions are he picked your name from a hat and is unfortunately stuck with you or he's completely lost his mind."

Gil tugged his hands free, glaring. "I'm sitting right here."

"I know, and it's totally baffling. You should quit."

"What?"

Tarvek continued to watch the room, avoiding Gil's gaze. "I'm not trying to be rude, but you're not cut out for this life--being a ruler is-"

Gil crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not here to be a ruler."

"Then why are you here?" Tarvek asked, finally looking at Gil.

_Because I'm going to_ lead  _this Empire some day._ He didn't say it out loud, though, and before he could formulate an acceptable answer, the door behind them opened and their fathers took their seats, bringing the meeting to order.

The afternoon progressed with little time to dwell on Tarvek's veiled insults or the fact that he sort of agreed with the weasel--Gil wasn't sure he was made to be a leader. It's a thought that haunted him at every meeting he was dragged to.

Finally, four hours later, recess was called for the evening and Gil was dismissed. He didn't wait around to be hauled back to the library to translate but had no idea where else to go so he followed the other delegates back to the guest quarters where they were preparing the dining hall for supper.

"Hey, Holzfäller," someone called, running up behind Gil. "You going to the party, right?"

"Party?" Gil frowned, racking his brain for a memory of a party listed on his itinerary.

"Yeah, a bunch of us are getting together tonight--strictly invite only."

A momentary thrill shot through Gil at the thought of being included--how often had he wished for that as a kid? "Sure," he answered without really thinking, "I'm in."

The kid clapped his shoulder then headed for his next invite just as a little sense cleared Gil's head. "Hey," he called after him, hesitating slightly until a name popped into his head, "Erik, is Sturmvoraus a part of this?"

"Prince Stick-Up-His-Butt-" Erik said with a laugh, "hell, no." Then he winked. "But his sister is."

"Okay," Gil said not sure if he felt relieved or disappointed, and the fact that he couldn't decide worried him almost as much as the sudden flare of anger over Erik's insult of Tarvek.

_Why do I care what the other kids think of him? Plus, they're right--he's a stick in the mud. No one wants him around._ Except a tiny part of him kind of did, and he hated it. He shook his head, veering towards his room to change--after all Anevka would be there. The thought made him smile as he snagged a buttered roll from a wheeled cart outside the dining room.

Maybe the day could be salvaged after all.

* * *

 

Gil waited for Barkley to go on his midnight walk before slipping out of their suite and following the barely legible directions scribbled on a scrap of paper he'd found after his shower. His heart raced as he snuck around the castle, reminding him of all the adventures he had as a kid--funny how Tarvek had been there for those, but now that they were in his house, he was nowhere to be found.

Which was for the best Gil reminded himself because Tarvek would probably ruin the fun somehow.

Taking a left, Gil found himself in a large sitting room with an entire wall of windows looking out onto a dark patio. According to the directions, he needed to cross the patio to a mirror sitting room. At least he thought that's what it said--he was worried about the literacy of whoever wrote the note.

He'd made it three steps into the room before someone grabbed his arm, yanking him to the floor behind a sofa, a hand slapped over his mouth as someone else shushed him just as a guard stomped through the room.

"That was close," said a girl--Celeste he remembered from a meeting last month.

"There's still two more," said the girl that shushed him.

Gil pulled away from the hand over his mouth to get a better look at the familiar voice. "Zulenna? What are you doing here? You're not an apprentice."

Zulenna scoffed. "I should think not, but my father and brother are here so the Baron allowed a pass to visit our families. Theo is here, too," she said, nodding past Gil.

Gil squinted over his shoulder just making out the glowing white eyes and teeth of his friend in the darkness.

"Hey, Gil," Teho whispered.

"Aren't you kind of young to be going to parties?"

Theo crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. "I'm twelve... and a half."

Gil snorted. You sound just like Seffie."

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

"Shh," Celeste hissed, ducking further behind the sofa and squishing Zulenna into Gil who fell against Theo. Another guard entered the room, looked around then exited onto the patio.

"What are we doing?" Gil whispered.

Celeste peeked over the back of the sofa. "We need to get across there, but the guards are changing shifts."

"They're very unpredictable--Uncle Aaronev says it keeps people on their toes."

Of course, she's a cousin, Gil thought. "Guess we know where Tarvek gets his sneakiness from," he muttered.

"We need a distraction," Theo said excitedly, eyes sparkling as he started snatching things from around the room. “I could totally make a misdirection gun from this and this-"

Gil slapped his hand over Theo's mouth as his voice pitched up an octave. "Calm down, Sparky," he said.

Theo mumbled something into his hand so Gil slowly pulled it away. "I just want to help."

"I know, but the solution doesn't always have to be so complicated. Watch and learn." Gil picked up a small solid glass orb from a dish on the side table then tossed it over the sofa towards the open patio door.

The four of them peeked over the sofa as the orb smacked the door frame, bounced across the room and into a large wall clock, setting it off then ricocheted off of a bookshelf into a lamp that wobbled precariously but didn't fall, and finally crashed into the patio door, spreading spiderweb cracks across the glass.

The guards, attracted by the noise, came running just as the large pane shattered.

"Oops," Gil mumbled.

"I'm watching, Gil," Theo said, "and learning so much."

"Stuff it, both of you," Celeste hissed then shoved them towards the patio where a window sat slightly ajar.

They crawled behind the guards' backs as they argued and discussed the broken door then one-by-one left out the window and scurried through the potted plants and mostly leafless trees. Back inside the castle, Celeste guided them out of the sitting room.

"This way."

"How do you know?" Gil asked. "Do you have a map or something?" He twisted his written instructions sideways and upside-down but they still made little sense.

Celeste grabbed the paper, crumpling it. "I memorized it, simpleton. Now let's go before the next guard rotation comes through here." She marched off, leaving Gil blinking after her.

"I like her," Zulenna said, hurrying after Celeste.

Gil sighed and followed.

"I'm still learning so much," Theo said with a grin.

"Oh, shut up."

"Both of you shut up," Celeste said without slowing. "How the guard hasn't caught the two of you with as much noise as you make is beyond me--no grace at all." The last part was said to Zulenna who nodded.

"You have no idea. On Castle Wulfenbach, I've been trying to get them to implement much-needed poise and etiquette lessons, but they don't listen."

"Not everyone can be as brilliant-" Gil said catching up to the girls.

"Or perfect," added Theo.

"-As you, Zulenna. You should definitely keep pressing the issue."

"Really?"

Gil nodded vigorously, Theo mimicking the move. "Oh yes--the Baron always wants to know how things are running on the ship, and who better to tell him about the school's shortcomings than the brightest student."

His father would kill him if he ever found out Gil's part in this, but he couldn't help himself--Zulenna was such an obnoxious brat, she deserved the Baron's personal attention.

"This way," Celeste commanded at the next intersection, turning right.

"What happened to being quiet," Gil asked.

"This part of the castle isn't used in the winter," she stated confidently.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth when a guard shouted, "You kids, halt!"

Celeste froze, color draining from her face. Zulenna looked between her friend and Gil with wide, frightened eyes that made him wonder if she ever stepped out of line and got caught. Well, Gil wasn't waiting to find out.

"Scatter," he yelled, grabbing Theo's arm and darting down the hall, taking a left not knowing where he was going but anywhere away from the guards was good with him--he was in enough trouble with the Prince already.

The two boys made it halfway down the hall when two guards appeared at the other end. Gil shot through an open door, Theo on his heels. The room appeared to be some kind of storage for the castle servants--filled with cleaning and maintenance supplies and no exit.

_Great_. Gil's eyes darted around, looking for any way out, anything to keep them from being caught.

"Now what?" asked Theo.

Heavy booted feet stomped down the hall as Gil's gaze landed on some barrels just inside the door. He used all his strength to swing a barrel around, tipping it on its side as he did.

"Now you get ready to run."


	15. Chapter 15

Gil wedged himself between a sturdy storage rack and the barrel and waited while Theo stood in the shadows next to the still-open door. As soon as the guards appeared, Gil kicked the barrel as hard as he could, sending it tumbling into the unsuspecting men.

"Go," he yelled, dashing forward and hurdling both the guards and barrel. Theo was right behind him as they sprinted down the hall, sliding around the corner, only slowing when they came to a set of stairs.

"Which way?" Theo asked, glancing up than down.

Gil patted his pockets looking for his directions before remembering Celeste crumpled them. "I don't know--do you have a map or something?"

"No, I was following Zulenna."

Gil groaned-- _figured_.

Behind them, footsteps grew closer, setting Gil into full flight mode." Down is quicker," he finally said before taking the stairs two or three at a time, leaping from the landing to the floor below, but the doors into the hall beyond were locked.

The two just shrugged and continued down the twisting stairs until the light from above disappeared. They pressed against the cold stone and waited for chasing footsteps, but it was quiet.

"I think we lost them," Theo whispered.

"I think we lost us," Gil responded.

"Do you have a match or something?"

"No."

Gil closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, listening to their breathing even out. They'd have to risk going back up--no telling where the guards would be.

Theo tugged his sleeve repeatedly.  _Was he always this easily excited_? Gil realized he didn't really know Theo or any of the other kids very well--he refused to let himself get close.

"Gil, look," Theo hissed in his ear.

Forcing his tired eyes open, he found the staircase softly glowing. A smile spread across his face. "Anevka's fungus. I think I know where we are."

Gil guided Theo down the stairs and to the left. He had no idea if the party was anywhere near here, but at least, he could maybe find his way back before they got caught.

A moment later, they stepped into the familiar atrium with the creepy murals.

"Wow," Theo said, taking in the room filled with the glow of the stars and moon above.

Gil ignored him, pacing a corner of the room as his brain sifted through all the info he had about the party which, admittedly, was little since he hadn't bothered to fully read that scrap of paper. "Where would they host a clandestine party?" he wondered out loud.

"I don't know," Theo answered.

"Where do they have them on Castle Wulfenbach?"

Gil was kind of flattered the kid thought him popular enough to be invited to parties. But just because he was never invited didn't mean he didn't know about them. They were usually up or down--dead spaces in the shop where mechanical systems ran between sections.

"I remember reading that Sturmhalten was built over some geothermal vents that power most of the castle and the town."

"So?"

"Well, yesterday I noticed heating vents in my room kind of like the ones we have on Castle Wulfenbach which means they have to connect to the thermal vents beneath the castle somewhere.”

Theo cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. "Again, I say, 'so?'"

"So-" Gil began examining the exterior of the walls in the room. "-I bet there's a mechanical substation somewhere that forces the heat where it needs to go. It'll be loud and probably steamy-"

"A perfect place to hide a party," Theo finished.

"Exactly," Gil said, snapping his fingers as he found what he was looking for--a grate carved into the stone wall in the corner. They peered inside but couldn't see much past the grate. "We need a candle," Gil said, looking around.

Theo clapped loudly, the sound echoing in the large space. "I have an idea," he shouted then darted off before Gil could stop him.

 _Not my problem if he gets caught_ , he told himself, but he wasn’t very convinced. He was about to go check on him when Theo came bounding back into the room, his waistcoat bundled in his arms.

Carefully, he opened the fabric revealing clumps of fungus. "I think I killed them," he said, shoulders slumping.

Gil took the fungus and placed it in two small saucers he found in a curio. "No, I think it'll be okay--Anevka said they'll come back on when they're not spooked anymore." 

They waited a moment, Theo gnawing his lower lip until slowly the plants began to glow again. "See?" He squeezed Theo's shoulder. "Good thinking." Theo grinned up at him, filling Gil with an overwhelming pride he found a little confusing if satisfying. 

They took the dishes of fungus over to the vent and peered inside, seeing only slightly farther than before.

"We can't fit in there," Theo said as he tugged on the solidly attached grate.

"No, but we can hopefully get an idea which way the ductwork goes." Gil moved the fungus back and forth but couldn't get enough light down the vent to see any turns.

"Ooh," Theo said suddenly then plucked a small amount of fungus from his dish and rolled it into a ball before flicking it into the vent. It rolled a few meters then sat there for a full minute until a glow built from within it, lighting the end of the tunnel which seemed to turn left.

"You're really good at this adventuring, you know?"

Theo's smile grew even wider. "Thanks, Gil--I'm having a lot of fun."

Gil couldn't help but smile back at Theo's contagious enthusiasm.

"So if we're not going in the vent, what now?"

"Now we figure out where the vents go."

They exited the atrium and found an unlocked room in the direction the vent had turned. It took only a moment to find the grate showing the duct beyond extending left and right. Twenty minutes later, they tracked the ventilation to another storage room--this one full of empty crates--where it took a turn down.

"Guess the answer is down."

Theo didn't question as they left the storage room and found a set of stairs behind a wrought iron gate that was conveniently unlocked. The stairs led to a narrow hall carved into the bedrock, water dripping eerily from the arched ceiling less than a half meter above Gil's head.

The farther they got, the less quiet the tomb-like space and the more damp. Gil slipped off his Wulfenbach sigil and undid the buttons of his shirt while Theo fumbled with his sleeves until Gil took his saucer of fungus so he could roll them up.

The hissing and whooshing of the ventilation system drowned out all other sounds--it seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, but soon that was replaced by the chaotic beats of some kind of tribal drum.

They hurried to the end of the hall and squeezed through a partially open gate into a huge cavern filled with shouting kids and lots and lots of steam. The drums crescendoed then were joined by other instruments--a harpsichord and horns and things Gil couldn't identify combining in a discordant racket that was surprisingly catchy.

"Is this... music?" Theo asked, head bopping to the beat.

"I think so."

Theo turned that bright, earnest smile at Gil again. "I think I like it." Then ran off into the crowd.

Gil set his fungus on the edge of a blinking monitor then peeled off his jacket and waistcoat, rolling his sleeves up like Theo. He watched the throngs of party-goers who seemed to be almost every apprentice, some of the summit support staff, Sturmvoraus relatives, and even castle servants. They appeared and disappeared amongst the steam--that along with the pounding music gave everything a hazy, surreal feeling that appealed to Gil.

Suddenly, the air crackled with electricity as purple fingers of lightning stretched overhead to the amazed “oohs” and startled cries of the partiers. Gil followed the display back to the epicenter--a strange coiled contraption--just as an older gentleman with a mustache snapped a large leather case shut.

"Thank you so much, Nikola," Anveka said, clapping her hands. "It's absolutely perfect."

The man bowed and tipped an imaginary hat. "My pleasure, Princess. If it gives you any more trouble let me know before I set back to Paris."

"Oh, Gil!" she shouted, tugging him closer to the coils as the man passed with another slight bow of the head. "Isn't it amazing?"

"What is it?" He could already feel the Spark lighting in his chest as he examined the machine.

"A frequency alternating-current resonant transformer."

"What's it for?" As he reached for it, the purple light arced from the coils to his fingers, making him jump, but he experienced none of the expected electrical shock, only a slight tingle.

Anevka smiled at his obvious wonder and delight as the current hopped from finger to finger. "Does it need to be anything more than this?" she asked, twirling with her arms over her head to encompass the spectacular show of lightning flickering through the fog down to her fingers.

"I guess not," he said, matching her smile.

She dropped her hands and returned to his side. "I'm glad you made it, Gil," she said softly, ducking her head. "I was afraid you wouldn't come after how horribly I treated you at dinner last night."

 _At least she admits it_. "So we're still friends?" he asked tentatively, not sure he could allow himself to trust her but desperately wanting to.

"If you'll have me." He swore she blushed despite the dim lighting. "I mean as a friend."

He still didn't really trust her, but he also didn't need more active enemies so he nodded. "On one condition."

Her smile faded slightly. "Oh?"

“You tell me how I can get my hands on one of these," he said, pointing at the coil until the tendrils extended to his fingertip again.

Anevka giggled--an absolutely splendid sound on all accounts. "You'll have to talk to Nikola. Father hired him from Paris to upgrade the electrical wiring in the castle while they were tearing things up for the new heating system. When he heard about the party, he said he had something that would steal the show."

She looked up at the lightning that seemed to almost move in time to the music. "It's genius, isn't it?"

"Brilliant; I want to know how it works!"

"Of course you do." She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "I'll get you his card, but he's returning to Paris soon--something about a big job offer in the Americas."

Gil wanted nothing more than to tear the coiled device apart, but he allowed Anevka to drag him away instead as she chattered about the party. He turned down the glass of slightly glowing blue liquid that surely contained more alcohol than safe to ingest at one time but allowed the ambiance and music to overtake him.

It seemed like almost everyone under twenty was at the party. Arabeth, the coffee girl, waved to him from where she perched on a long cylinder that probably housed some kind of turbine talking to a boy wearing half a Sturmhalten guard uniform. And he found Zulenna dancing with Celeste leaving him wondering how they talked themselves out of trouble. Theo waved as he danced with a girl Gil remembered from Castle Wulfenbach that had left a year before for some reason.

"You seem to be making friends," Anevka said.

Gil shrugged. Making friends wasn't hard--it was keeping them that was difficult which reminded Gil of the one person he hadn't seen tonight. Not that he cared at all what Tarvek was doing he told himself without much conviction.

* * *

 

When Tarvek got back late from translating in the library, he checked every room in the royal residence but couldn't find his sister. His anger and annoyance kicked up a notch with each room he investigated so by the time he retired to his own in frustration, he slammed every door on principle.

"Violetta!" He waited for his Smoke Knight to make herself seen but nothing happened. Several beats passed before he remembered their fight the day before. "Dammit," he shouted, kicking a stool across the room with a crash.

A moment later, someone knocked on the door, and their butler, Hans, poked in his head. "Is everything all right, Master Tarvek?" he asked, eyes darting around the room suspiciously.

Tarvek removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, everything is fine."

The man nodded, backing out of the room.

"Wait," Tarvek called as he replaced his glasses, "have you seen my sister anywhere?"

Hans seemed to consider his answer thoroughly which just set off warning bells for Tarvek. "No since earlier this evening, sir. She was making plans with some friends." He made a face like he tasted something sour. "They mentioned, 'banging music, cocktails, and a light show,' I believe."

Tarvek sighed. "A party?"

"I believe so, sir. Will you be needing anything else tonight?"

"Short of the location of the party?"

Hans shook his head. "I'm afraid I wasn't privy to that information," he said then shut the door before Tarvek could question him further.

"Apparently neither was I," he muttered.

The clock on his bedside table said it was nearly midnight. It had taken a ridiculous amount of time to finish the translations they'd started that afternoon. Apparently, they had put off the Russian pages for two days and since Holzfäller decided to show off and start them, his father insisted they should be caught up before tomorrow.

 _Too bad Gil hadn't bothered to help_.

"Self-centered jerk," he mumbled to the empty room. "Great, now I'm talking to myself. He's driving me crazy, and he isn't even here."

With a disgusted noise, Tarvek crossed to the corner of his room and pressed a series of stones, opening a door in the wall that he quietly slipped through. He followed the twisting passage until it emerged on the other side of the castle then headed down the stairs.

Two of the maintenance workers hired to help with the heating system scurried out of his way, but Tarvek didn't miss their stifled laughter as he passed. He shot them a look over his shoulder that only sobered them until he turned the corner when he heard them bust out laughing fully. Ahead, a guard leaned against the wall, twirling the hair of a maid standing beside him.

Tarvek growled as he got closer. "Shouldn't you be patrolling?"

The young man snapped to attention as the maid dashed off, red-faced, before Tarvek could reprimand her, too. "Yes, sir, I was just-" He waved lamely, obviously finding no plausible excuse in his tiny brain.

"Uh-huh," Tarvek said then motioned him off.

The guard trotted off in the direction of the main, snickering into his hand. Tarvek wanted to scream to the Heavens as he slammed open the door to his lab at the end of the hall.

"What is with everyone today?" he yelled.

"Huh?"

A body shot up from the cot in the corner, eliciting a started cry from Tarvek until he saw it was only a sleepy Violetta. His momentary fear quickly morphed into irritation. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What?" Violetta said, rubbing her eyes.

"I was looking for you."

She swung her feet around to the floor and stretched. "Well, here I am."

Her nonchalance wasn't helping his mood any--he had quite enough insubordination today. "Well, you're supposed to be there when I call you."

Violetta crossed her arms in obvious defense. "I'm not your dog to beckon, and you told me to leave you alone."

Tarvek's anger deflated at the hurt in her voice, and he dropped onto a stool at one of the tables. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Admitting he was wrong was never one of Tarvek's strong suits, and Violetta was probably even more stubborn than him.

He fiddled with some empty test tubes in a holder. "So where were you all day?" he finally asked, hoping he managed to keep the accusation out of his tone.

Violetta joined him at the table, her fingers tapping a random rhythm that reminded him of Gil earlier in the day. Finally, she let out a breath that he interpreted as forgiveness. 

"I was keeping away from Martellus like you said only I don't think he got the memo."

Tarvek's expression darkened."What do you mean?"

Violetta shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing. "I went to training and Tweedle thought it would be fun to-" She finished with another shrug.

Every muscle in Tarvek's body tensed--if that idiot hurt her in any way. He clamped down on the murderous rage. "What happened," he asked with as much calm as he could muster.

Violetta eyed him; she always could see right through him. "Nothing I couldn't handle," she said finally, ending the conversation by turning away.

Tarvek took a moment to process her words, general attitude, and the slight tremor of her hands. Whether it was fear or anger he couldn't tell, but it was obviously affecting her even if she didn’t want to talk about it. He decided the best course of action was to simply change the subject and save them both.

"What's going on here?” he asked, noticing beakers set up. “Some kind of science experiment--do you have another exam coming up?"

Violetta's shoulders slumped. "Nothing like that. I'm testing all my potions."

Tarvek picked up an empty bottle now labeled with a number that seemed to correspond to a page in a small notebook filled with chemical diagrams and ingredient lists. "Move-it number two," he read from the book before setting down the bottle. "What seems to be the problem?"

She sighed in what appeared to be defeat. "I was trying to determine if the right potions were in the correct bottles and if so, if they were the right formulas."

"And the conclusion?"

"Everything is what it's supposed to be," she yelled, throwing her hands up.

Tarvek bit back a laugh at her dramatic overreaction.

"Shut up," she said, crossing her arms over her chest again, "it's not funny."

He stopped trying to hide his smile--Violetta was such a little spitfire, as their grandmother liked to call her.

This time she threw a balled-up scrap of paper at him that he easily batted away, but at least she was smiling a little now. Several more papers came his way, forcing him to dodge right off his stool, hands up.

“Okay, okay, I surrender," he said, laughing.

Violetta jutted her chin high in the air, hands on her hips. "As long as you know your place, "she said with a gap-toothed grin.

For the first time all day, Tarvek felt the tension drain from his tired muscles. He'd looked for Anevka to vent about Holzfäller, but he guessed he just needed to let off a little steam. The thought reminded him of another problem, though, souring his mood again.

"I know that look," Violetta said. “Just tell me who I have to poison with Ten-Hour Tinnitus, and I'll get it done."

Tarvek couldn't tell if she was serious or not so was thankful her potion supply was currently spread out in various experiments in his lab.

"It's nothing," he told her as he began picking up the scraps of paper. "I was just looking for Anevka earlier, but no one seemed to know where she was."

"She's probably at the party by now."

Tarvek stopped half-bent, still reaching for a paper to look at his cousin. "Wait, you know about the party?"

Violetta rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows about it."

Tarvek stood, frowning at his polished boots as his arms fell limply to his sides. "I didn't know about it."

Violetta shrugged. "I guess you weren't invited." She seemed to suddenly realize what she said, eyes widening while her face darkened slightly. "I mean, I wasn't invited either--it's just my job to know what's going on around here. And the older Smoke Knights love to brag."

Tarvek sighed--sounded like everyone but him was at this party. "So, do you know where it is?"

She cocked her head in thought. "Considering the number of people I heard traipse past the lab in the last hour, I'm going to guess down in the steam room."

“Why--that seems like an awful place for a party."

Violetta shook her head, eyes rolling again. "It's not one of your dinner parties, stuffy--the steam room is perfect. It's loud to cover the noise and hot so people start taking off clothes-" she pretended to gag, "-but most of all, it's someplace no one would look because they think like you."

"How do you know so much about parties if you've never been to one?"

"I said I wasn't invited, not that I never went--lots of interesting stuff happens at those parties."

Tarvek rubbed his forehead. "Great, so my ten-year-old cousin has more of a life than I do. Terrific."

"Where are you going?" Violetta asked when he turned toward the door.

"I'm, to the party so I can see what I'm missing, of course."

Her left eyebrow shot up. "Dressed like that?"

Tarvek threw up his arms with a huff. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Besides the fact that it's probably thirty-seven degrees down there so you're going to suffocate in that getup, and that it's powder blue so it's going to attract every bit of grime?"

A growl caught in the back of his throat. "Yes, besides that," he said flatly even as he slid out of the jacket and brocade waistcoat.

The smirk that curled her lips made him pause. "Those flowers drawn on your butt are probably going to get more than a few laughs," she said, not even bothering to hold back her own giggles.

"What!"

He twisted around to see the back of his trousers--sure enough, a floral pattern covered most of the seat. It looked suspiciously like the design of the chairs in the summit room.  _Holzfäller_.

"I'm going to kill him! No wonder everyone's been staring and laughing all day. I knew I wasn't imagining it!" He continued to rant and mutter curses as he stormed around the lab looking in lockers and closets for something to wear, finally finding sturdy work trousers that were at least clean.

Violetta busied herself cleaning up her bottles while Tarvek changed. She busted out laughing when he finished. "You're probably going to want the shirt, too."

Tarvek frowned then caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His silk shirt with the flouncy sleeves and ruffled collar and cuffs was the height of fashion in Paris but looked ridiculous against the charcoal gray utilitarian bibbed trousers. With a disgusted grunt, he carefully undid the Mother-of-Pearl buttons and hung the shirt on a hangar in the locker then tugged on the twill lab shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows to hide the worn cuffs.

"Better?" he said with a scowl.

Violetta snorted. "Not really; let's go." She flung her cape around, settling it on her shoulders as she passed, nearly smacking him in the face.

Tarvek growled but followed her out of the lab and to the left. A few minutes later, they crept through the unlocked gate at the top of the maintenance stairs that led to the tunnels under the castle. The way was lit by some of the fungus Anevka liked to play with, but it grew dimmer the farther they went--not that it mattered as they could easily find their way by the deafening beat of what he assumed was supposed to be music.

Squeezing through a broken gate, they entered the aptly-named steam chamber. Only moments in and Tarvek's clothes clung to his damp skin, making him thankful he left his expensive silk shirt behind.

Everywhere was steam and people or illusions of people and noise and purple lightning. "This is madness," he shouted at Violetta.

"They look like they're having fun," she said, gesturing at the wildly gyrating partiers.

"Than they're mad, too."

Violetta laughed then skipped away, calling over her shoulder, "Try to have some fun, huh?"

Not likely, he thought as he stalked the perimeter of the space, trying to stay out of the way and unnoticed, but inevitably the whispers started. And the pointing and laughing. Tarvek hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the ill feeling growing in his chest.

"Why am I even here?" he muttered after yet another group of girls fell into giggles after he passed them. He wasn't just not invited--he wasn't wanted here by anyone. To test the hypothesis, he smiled and waved at a girl he knew from the summit.

The smile on her face instantly vanished, and she was suddenly very interested int eh ventilation monitor next to her. Tarvek's heart hurt as he made his way to the exit--he always liked to think himself impervious to the alienation he experienced, but it was one of the many lies he fed himself.

He should have just stayed in his lab with Violetta, safe in his bubble of aloofness. Now he couldn't deny the loneliness he felt standing in this crowd of people--many his own family--that apparently hated him. The realization was a little too much to handle after the day he had. He didn't bother looking for Violetta as he pushed through the throngs of partiers.

He was almost to the gate when he heard the familiar tinkle of Anevka's laughter pulling him back into the room. He'd stay just long enough to ask his sister why he wasn't invited. No, why no one liked him? Why she didn't even want him around?

"Could I be any more pathetic?"

He started to turn around before he could feel any more like a loser when he heard another familiar voice. Peering around a monstrous shaft, he found Aenvka dancing--if you could call it that--wrapped in the arms of the one person he really didn't want to see tonight.

As he watched in frozen horror, Anevka slid her hand along Gil's jaw then leaned in, her lips pressing gently against his as both their eyes fluttered shut.

"No, no, no!" The words rumbled in his chest and up his throat until they exploded from between ground teeth. People nearby quickly got out of the way as he stormed towards the two of them. "Get the hell off my sister, you swine," Tarvek shouted, grabbing Gil by the collar and throwing him to the ground.

"Tarvek," Anevka yelled, "what are you doing here?"

"I just came to see what I was missing which apparently wasn't much besides horrible music and you snogging my sworn enemy."

Anevka rolled her eyes hard. "Sworn enemy, really? Do you even hear yourself? Is it any wonder you're not invited to anyone's parties?"

Tears burned his eyes. "I don't care about their parties," he said as calmly as he could. "But yours-"

She had the decency to look abashed, eyes darting away from his. 

"That's what I thought," he mumbled, no longer caring about his dignity as he turned and pushed through the curious and amused onlookers.


	16. Chapter 16

Gil stared up at Anevka from where Tarvek had tossed him, his lips still tingling from the surprise kiss. "What was that for?"

Anevka laughed at her brother's retreating form. "Serves him right for spying."

"Spying?" Gil frowned then touched his lips. "Wait, you kissed me because you knew Tarvek was watching?" Anger bubbled up as she continued to laugh.

"Oh, Gil, you're so innocent; it's just adorable."

Gil got up, stepping out of her reach. "You used me to humiliate your own brother." He couldn't hide the hurt in his voice. _I knew I shouldn't have trusted her_.

Anevka's smile fell away. "Come on, Gil, it was just a joke--don't be like that."

Gil just shook his head as he continued to back away from her towards the gate then he turned and ran. He was only a few seconds behind Tarvek, but the tunnel and staircase were both empty already.

Gil took the stairs three at a time, throwing open the gate at the top with a clank. _Which way_? He was about to head back the way he'd come with Theo earlier--towards the burning atrium--when he heard a door slam in the opposite direction.

Following the noise, he found himself in an older, less used part of the castle. The hall sported heavy iron doors every ten meters or so. Gil stopped in the center of the corridor, straining to hear any sound, any clue which door he heard slam. His only other option was to just try to randomly open them.

The closest two he tried were, of course, locked and the third had been welded shut. Gil backed quickly away from that one when something began scratching and the knob shook--his father did say Sturmhalten was notorious for its monsters.

He considered just giving up when the door behind him suddenly opened.

"You," Tarvek shouted, face red and eyes even redder.

 _Was he crying_? Something inside of Gil twisted hard; it felt like his heart. Gil was the one that cried--when the other kids picked on him and pushed him down and stole his dinner and told him he was worthless. Tarvek was the strong one that always stood up to the bullies and got Gil through one of the hardest times in his life.

Seeing him weak was more unsettling than he cared to admit.

Gil opened his mouth to say something, but then just closed it again when words failed him. Tarvek continued to seethe in the doorway--his entire body vibrating. Taking a deep breath, Gil tried again to say something, anything, but this time Tarvek turned suddenly and stormed into the room.

Gil followed slowly in what ended up being a rather large and bright laboratory. At the center was a long workbench covered in a microscope, beakers and about a dozen little bottles.

And one familiar dart.

He picked it up, anger flaring along with a phantom pain in his neck. He spun, looking for Tarvek just in time to get a ball of fabric to the face that nearly knocked him off his feet with the force it hit him.

"Deidrick Lafayette," Tarvek said. "That's the name of the designer on Avenue Montaigne, Paris."

Gil unwadded the bundle to find light blue trousers now adorned with a delicate floral design. "Maybe you'll start a new fashion trend," he said, tossing them back with a laugh.

Tarvek's eyes darkened. "If by trend you mean everyone laughing at me all day then, yeah, I'm a trendsetter."

Gil ducked his head--he never guessed Tarvek would wear the trousers the entire day. It didn't seem so funny anymore. An apology was on the top of his tongue when the dart caught his attention again, bringing another surge of anger that was preferable to the guilt overwhelming him,

"So you going to tell me again how you didn't drug me?" he asked, holding it up.

Tarvek scoffed. "I already told you, Holzfäller, I don't care enough to drug you--it was all in your addled brain."

"You think I imagined being attacked in your castle by one of your personal guards?"

"What are you talking about?" Tarvek said, snatching the dart from him. "Why would anyone attack you?"

He seemed to realize what he said a moment too late--his skin blazing as red as his hair, but Gil didn't let the opportunity pass. "You mean besides you attack me? Twice," he added, holding up two fingers for emphasis. "I guess we could also count that one cousin of yours--Tweedle--who threatened to punch my face in. That's three attacks right there; two in the first few hours I was here.

“Then last night I was minding my own business when this crazy miniature mercenary took me down with two of those."

Tarvek just shook his head. "I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Well, she's your Smoke Knight, isn't she?"

Tarvek frowned, his fingers fiddling with the dart. "There are hundreds of Smoke Knights-"

"Red hair, blue eyes-"

"You just described three-quarters of the people in the castle right now."

Gil rolled his eyes. "Yes, the genetics run strong in your family--you must be proud."

Tarvek crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you have a point?"

"Yeah, at the tip of that dart."

"You know, having a conversation with you is an exercise in futility, if you can even qualify what we're doing as conversing."

Gil matched his defensive pose. "It'd be a lot easier if you just admitted you attacked me."

Tarvek brushed past Gil, tossing the dart on the table then started to clean up. "Yes, you already established that I attacked you--get over it already."

"I meant the drugs," Gil said, picking up a bottle with no label and sniffing it until Tarvek took it away.

"I told you it wasn't me."

Gil sighed--futile was definitely the word he'd use, too. Tarvek would never confess. Of course, whatever he was dosed with the night before had lowered his resistance to suggestion. He'd said too much answering Seffie's questions--had nearly given away closely guarded secrets if it hadn't been for the training he'd received on resisting mind control.

So he figured one of these vials contained some of that truth serum, and he bet Tarvek's self-control would be less defined. The problem was none of the bottles he could see were labeled.

"Fine, you had nothing to do with it," Gil said, obviously surprising Tarvek. "Just like I didn't have anything to do with your sister--Anevka kissed me."

As expected Tarvek screwed up his face in disgust and looked anywhere other than Gil, giving him time to snatch up the dart and a bottle that was suspiciously less full than the others.

"Thanks for reminding me--I'll be scarred for life."

Gil shrugged. "I can't help it if I'm irresistible to the girls in your family--Anevka, Seffie." _That freaky Smoke Knight kid._

"Are you trying to get hit again?" Tarvek said, voice heavy with the threat.

With a laugh, Gil patted Tarvek's cheek as he headed towards the door. "I beat you once already."

Tarvek shoved him ard in the back, but Gil was expecting it, easily hopping with the momentum and staying on his feet. "See you in the morning, Sturmvoraus--I have a party that I was very much invited to to get back to." He waggled his fingers over his shoulder and slammed the door seconds before something hit it with a dull thwump then fell to the floor.

"You owe me new trousers," Tarvek shouted from the closed lab.

 _In your dreams_ , Gil thought as he headed back towards the stairs to the steam party, but he passed right by without slowing. The earlier thrill he'd felt at being included had evaporated. Anevka had used him just like his father had warned him.

And worse--it hurt.

He wanted desperately to trust her, to have her as a friend and ally. At least now his eyes were open--he had no allies here; he had no allies ever. It was a lesson his father had tried to teach him for years and he was finally starting to understand.

Now it was time for a little revenge, he thought, pulling the dart from his pocket.

Gil managed to find his way back to the guest wing without being seen, slipping silently through the door while Barkley dozed by the fire. He tip-toed down the hall and listened outside his father's room.

Hearing no snoring, he took the risk of trying the knob, finding it unlocked and the room empty. The Baron was probably chatting with the Prince or working somewhere else in the castle.

He found what he'd been looking for quickly--the case on the chest of drawers--and hurried to his own room, locking the door behind him. In the bathroom, Gil pulled out test tubes and chemicals from the case, setting up several tests on the vial and dart he'd snagged.

It was nearly three in the morning before he snuck the case back into his father's still-empty room and curled into bed for a few hours of sleep while his last experiment finished. He smiled as he drifted off thinking of payback and Tarvek's smug smile being wiped off his stupid, perfect face.

* * *

 

_"We tend to think in terms of what we can see and hear--our two biggest input senses," Miss Ziegler, the science teacher said, "but when it comes to memories, there's another sense that is much more powerful. Does anyone know what that is?"_

_Several hands shot up in the air. Gil leaned his chin in his hand and stared at the clock--just fifteen more minutes and they were free for the day. Next to him, Tarvek carefully transcribed the answer Willow gave as Miss Ziegler elaborated._

_Gil rolled his eyes at the precise way his friend wrote each letter, pressing so firmly with his pencil that Gil knew he could get his own set of notes just by rubbing a lead over the paper beneath to reveal the writing._

_"That's correct," Miss Ziegler said. "Smell is one of, if not, the most powerful senses in our arsenal, especially when it comes to memories. Just think about your favorite memories--what's the first thing that comes to mind?"_

_She pointed at Mathias. "What's your favorite memory?"_

_"Solstice," he said timidly._

_"And what's the first thing you think of when you think of the Solstice?"_

_"Presents?" he asked, getting a laugh from the other kids._

_Miss Ziegler only smiled. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "When I think of Solstice, I think of evergreen wreaths and waxy candles and smoky wood stoves cooking a feast of pheasant and goose."_

_Gil's stomach grumbled at the thought. Not that he had any experience with Solstice--they didn't exactly celebrate holidays on Castle Wulfenbach although some kids did hang wreaths and exchange presents in the winter. Gil never got anything, though._

_"What's your favorite smell?" Miss Ziegler asked Juniper Rosewell._

_"Cookies."_

_"And why's that?"_

_"They remind me of my mother--she loves to bake and sometimes I would come home from school to find her in the kitchen even though we had servants to do that sort of thing. I would sit at the table and help her roll the dough and cut the shapes, and we'd talk about our days."_

_"Those are lovely memories, Juniper--you'll always cherish them."_

_Gil's stomach growled even louder at the thought of cookies. The clocked ticked by--ten minutes to go. He sighed, letting his elbow slip out from under his chin a little, his head sinking lower to the desk. Tarvek hummed his disapproval like he often did, making Gil roll his eyes._

_The class seemed to drag on forever as the teacher went around the room asking each student for their favorite memory or scent. Each story made Gil more hungry or depressed until panic started to set in when he realized he'd probably have to add his own story._

_What would he even say? Did he even have a favorite memory in his short, miserable life?_

_He glared at the clock, willing it to move faster and resolving himself to figure out the secrets of time and space when he got older if only to go back and escape this moment._

_"And what about you, Tarvek?" Miss Ziegler asked._

_Gil's stomach plummeted as his heart shot into his throat--he was next._

_Tarvek put down his pencil and bit his lip as he thought. Gil glanced from his friend to the clock and back repeatedly. How could time move so slowly one moment and quickly the next?_

_Tarvek straightened his papers, still thinking. He had just as much time to formulate a response; why was he stalling? Was he doing that because he knew how scared Gil was? The thought set off a burst of warmth in his chest for his best friend._

_"Well," Tarvek finally said after a little prodding, "if I'd have to choose a favorite scent it would probably be the smell of grass after a rainy day."_

_Miss Ziegler and several of the kids nodded in agreement, but Tarvek only stared at his paper, brow furrowed._

_"And why's that?"_

_His frowned intensified, but then he took a deep, steady breath. “When I was little--before I came to Castle Wulfenbach--my father would get really busy so my mother would take my sister and me on picnics. It didn't matter the weather. Even in the dead of winter, we would sit on wool blankets and eat steamy bowls of chowder in the snow."_

_The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile, but it quickly faded along with the light in his eyes. "This one time, though, my sister didn't want to come with so my mother and I went alone. It had rained that morning and the ground was soggy so we took off our shoes and socks and walked in our bare feet despite the mud._

_“We laid there all afternoon, digging our toes in the cool earth, searching for bugs and listening to the birds sing." Tarvek suddenly sucked in a gurgling breath, his lower lip quivering._

_Before anyone could say anything, the clock struck the hour, ending the class. Tarvek shot out of his seat, leaving his bag behind, but Gil was right behind him, shoving everything from the desk into Tarvek's bag before following him out the door._

_"Wait up," he called._

_When Gil finally caught up, Tarvek grabbed his bag and shoved Gil away. "Leave me alone," he said through clenched teeth, wiping at his eyes._

_"Why? What did I do?"_

_Tarvek pushed him again then ran off, leaving Gil stunned and confused._

_He waited for his friend at supper, but Tarvek didn't show which meant Gil only managed to snag a single piece of buttered bread before the bullies confiscated the rest of his food--he'd forgotten how bad things had been before Tarvek, and he went to bed hungry and angry at being abandoned._

_But when Tarvek wasn't in class the next day and no one had seen him at breakfast, Gil began to worry. He barely paid attention and missed the entire discussion on how the sense of taste related to the sense of smell, only thankful he never had to come up with his own memory. After class, he waited to speak to Miss Ziegler._

_"Do you know where Tarvek is?" he asked, his mouth a little dry with nerves._

_Miss Ziegler set her glasses on the table--she looked a lot older and more tired than usual._

_"I'm afraid, Prince Sturmvoraus isn't feeling well right now."_

_"Oh." Gil stared at his feet. "That's too bad." Here Gil was angry Tarvek wasn't at supper when he was sick? Some friend._

_"Remember how we talked about memories linked to smells?"_

_Gil nodded._

_"Well, I think those memories were a little too much for Tarvek to manage yesterday--it happens when we're away from our loved ones. They call it home-sickness."_

_"Oh," Gil said again even though he had no understanding of homesickness. Castle Wulfenbach was the only home he knew, and there was no one here that he would miss if he left. Except Tarvek._

_The thought of being away from him even for a night left his stomach roiling and his heart aching. Maybe he could understand after all._

_"You're a good friend to him, Gilgamesh, maybe you can think of a way to cheer him up," Miss Ziegler said as she saw him out the door._

_Gil sat alone at lunch and supper again, trying to think of ways to make Tarvek feel better which was easier said than done when he wouldn't even talk to Gil for some reason. And it all started because of that story about the wet grass picnic._

_That's what gave him the idea, and when Tarvek finally showed his face again a few days later, Gil set his plan in motion._

_"I'm not really in the mood for an adventure right now," Tarvek said at breakfast that morning. He chewed a bite of toast half-heartedly then washed it down with a sip of juice. "Besides we have classes."_

_Gil rolled his eyes--had Tarvek learned nothing from him. "Come on, it'll be fun. No one even knows you're back from being sick."_

_Tarvek glanced around the dining room at the other kids eating and laughing. "But I'm right here--they can see me."_

_Gil groaned--why was he being so difficult? "We'll just say you thought you were better, but you were wrong and felt icky after eating so went back to bed, okay?"_

_"Gil-"_

_"Come on, Tarvek, what's one more day?"_

_Tarvek frowned at his bowl of fruit that he'd barely touched then sighed, letting Gil known he'd finally won. Gil pumped his fist in the air in celebration of his win._

_"You're not exactly playing into the whole, 'I'm still sick’ thing, you know?" Tarvek said with half a smile._

_"Oh, right," Gil said then pushed Tarvek off his seat while dumping his food on the floor. "Oh, no," he said loudly, getting the attention of some of the kids nearby, "aren't you feeling well? You must have passed out and fell and made a big mess. Maybe you should go back to bed, Tarvek."_

_Tarvek narrowed his eyes at Gil then slowly stood, wiping fruit from his shirt. "Maybe you're right, Gil," he said just as dramatically. "I don't feel well at all."_

_Just then one of the older girls came over, brow knit in concern. "Should I call the nurse?" she asked, wringing her hands together. "Or maybe von Pinn?"_

_"No," both boys shouted, startling her._

_"It's okay," Gil told her, swinging Tarvek's arm over his shoulder, "I've got him--he's not as fat as he looks."_

_"Hey," Tarvek said then leaned all of his weight on Gil, nearly knocking him over._

_Gil struggled to keep them both upright as he picked through the slippery mess of their breakfast on the floor. "I think he just needs one more day of rest and then he'll be fine."_

_"Are you sure you don't want me to get the nurse?" the girl asked Tarvek._

_Tarvek shook his head. "I'll be okay. Gil can take care of me--he's not as dumb as he looks."_

_Gil growled under his breath at the insult, but didn't say anything as he moved them along, still trying to carry almost all of Tarvek's weight--maybe he was fatter than he looked._

_The moment they left the dining room, though, Tarvek shoved off of Gil, pushing him into a plant that Gil barely managed to keep from knocking over._

_"Jerk," Tarvek muttered._

_Gil fixed the plant upright then joined Tarvek, grinning like an idiot._

_"Well?" Tarvek said after a moment. "You got us out of class, now what?"_

_"Oh, right, the adventure. Come on, this way."_

_He snatched Tarvek's hand and started running, Tarvek struggling to keep up as usual. They wound their way out of the school and through the forbidden halls of Castle Wulfenbach, garnering some attention from the crew, but no one stopped them._

_"Where are we going?" Tarvek finally asked when they started heading into a restricted area._

_Gil tugged on his hand, but Tarvek dug his heels in, refusing to budge._

_"Don't you trust me?" Gil asked, batting his extra-long lashes. Tarvek chewed his lip for a moment like he was weighing his options or trying to decide if he did trust Gil--his hesitation hurt more than Gil wanted to admit. "Why are you still mad at me?" he asked, surprising both of them._

_Tarvek blinked. "I'm not mad at you."_

_"You yelled at me," he said softly, kicking at a scuff on the floor, "and pushed me."_

_"Oh." Tarvek went back to biting his lip, looking everywhere but at Gil._

_Now Gil felt sick--like his stomach was being tied in a knot and his heart squeezed still. He rubbed at the imaginary pain in his chest. If homesickness felt anything like having your best friend mad at you, he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy--he could barely breath when Tarvek stopped talking to him, and all he wanted now was to fix things._

_"Come on," he said, softly, taking Tarvek's hand again, "I just want to show you something. Please."_

_Agonizing moments passed before Tarvek sighed and let Gil pull him forward with a relieved sigh. "If we get in trouble I'm telling them I'm delusional with illness and have no idea where we are--you're taking advantage of my debilitation."_

_Gil rolled his eyes. "Agreed; now come on."_

_A couple minutes later, they were crawling through some ductwork into the bowels of the ship. Tarvek said nothing--didn't even comment about them maybe being lost like he normally did. Maybe he did trust Gil after all._

_The thought bolstered Gil's resolve--Tarvek was his very best friend, almost like a brother, and he was going to do this one thing to make him feel better._

_He hoped._

_Soon enough, they came to a grate blocking the way. Both boys peered out into a drab gray hall like all the others on the ship._

_"Where are we?" Tarvek whispered, tickling the hairs on the back of Gil's neck._

_"You'll see," he said just as quietly before spending several minutes working the screws from the grate with his fingers until they were raw and numb._

_Together, they lowered grate and scrabbled out of the vent. Gil didn't even bother to put the grate back--barely anyone came this way--and led Tarvek down the hall._

_It had taken him a while to find this place on their pilfered maps based on hearsay and conjecture. Castle Wulfenbach was the size of a small city. Thousands of people lived here year-round, and the city never landed or stayed in one place for very long._

_Supply zeppelins came and went throughout the week, but it couldn't possibly be enough to keep the ship fully stocked, at least in Gil's young mind. They always had fresh fruit in the school no matter what--von Pinn said it helped growing minds and bodies develop correctly, and one time he saw the crew carrying fruit still covered in dew from somewhere in the ship when no supply craft had been scheduled to arrive._

_Several days of poking around brought him to the large cavernous room tucked into the corner of the ship._

_"What is this?" Tarvek asked, taking a tentative step inside._

_Gil waited at the entrance for Tarvek's reaction, lower lip caught between his teeth with anxiety._

_Tarvek stood motionless a few feet inside just staring up at the trees soaring above them and the glass wall built into the top of the ship beyond that. The early morning sun glinted off the dewy grass and gently swaying leaves._

_When Tarvek didn't' move or say anything else, Gil finally joined him on the squishy ground. The first thing he noticed was the smell--damp and loamy. Dirt and trees and fruit and compost and a million other scents he couldn't identify having grown up inside his entire life. It smelled amazing. Much better than cookies or candles or even roasting pheasant._

_Tarvek took a few more steps then a deep breath, letting it out slowly._

_"Do you like it?" Gil asked, turning his face up to the warm sun. "I don't think most people even know we have a forest on the ship. It's crazy, isn't it? But they grow all sorts of fruits and vegetables here. And flowers. And there are birds and bees and stuff. What do you think?"_

_He spun to face his friend, expecting the same excitement he felt deep in his bones but found tears streaming down Tarvek's face as he choked on a sob, fist jammed in his mouth._

_Gil ran to him, alarm chasing away his earlier elation. "Tarvek, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Talk to me, please." Gil felt tears welling in his own eyes and blinked them away--Tarvek needed him to be the strong one now. "Did I do something wrong again? I don't understand--you know I'm stupid when it comes to, well, being around people."_

_Tarvek shook his head, apparently unable to answer then just walked right past Gil into the small forest. Gil followed a few feet behind, his bloody fingers worrying the edge of his waistcoat._

_Did he screw up again? He was always making such a mess of things. If only he understood people and what he was supposed to do._

_He smacked himself on the head a few times, tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he croaked._

_Tarvek stopped ahead of him but didn't turn._

_"I didn't mean to hurt you more," Gil continued, the words coming out in a rush. “ I just wanted to make you feel better, and you said you liked the smell of wet grass and then I found this place that has grass, and they make it rain in the mornings from the sprinklers up above so I thought you would like it, but I'm so stupid and don't ever understand what people want, and I'm sorry so please stop crying. Please."_

_The word caught in his throat as the tears overflowed down his cheek. "I don't want you to be sad anymore," he whispered. Gil squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears out. His chest was being crushed by an unseen vice making it hard to breathe, and the pain in his center had to be his heart shattering into a million pieces._

_"You found this place for me?" Tarvek asked after a moment._

_Gil nodded and wiped his face with the back of his hand that only smeared the tears and snot across his cheeks. "You said your favorite memory was a picnic with your mom in the wet grass--I thought this would remind you of it." He gestured weakly at the grassy area in the center of the trees right below the center of the glass dome._

_"My mother is dead, Gil."_

_"Oh." His lip started to quiver again as the tears blurred his vision. "I don't have a mother either," he said softly._

_"You don't even remember your parents; that’s different."_

_Gil looked away, his face burning with humiliation and guilt and other emotions he didn't understand. "I'm sorry," he mumbled to his now-muddy boots. "We can go."_

_He spun on his heel, not waiting for Tarvek's answer, but a hand grabbed his elbow, stopping his desperate retreat. Slowly, Gil turned to face his friend, not sure what to expect. He'd made a mess of things like he always did--you'd think he'd be used to that by now, but it still hurt to know he'd screwed everything up._

_He was surprised to find Tarvek's expression neutral, eyes dry now. "You did this for me?" Tarvek asked again._

_Gil nodded then followed Tarvek's gaze over to the trees and damp grass before returning to his friend's face as the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile. "It smells just like home," he whispered then threw his arms around Gil, hugging him tightly._

_A gasp of absolute relief exploded from Gil as he relaxed into Tarvek's embrace. "Do you really like it?"_

_Tarvek stepped back and wiped his eyes with a nod. "It's amazing, Gil. How do they have trees on a ship? We're in the air! It's crazy; I love it. But-"_

_His smile fell and with it, Gil's heart. "But what?" He fiddled with the buttons on his coat, avoiding Tarvek's eyes again. He hated being so insecure._

_"But," Tarvek said, grabbing Gil's hand to get his attention, "too bad we already ate breakfast. It's not really a picnic without food."_

_Gil looked at their joined hands then slowly up to Tarvek's smiling if blotchy face, relief filling him--maybe he hadn't completely messed everything else. "But you didn't eat," he said softly, "you spilled your food on the floor."_

_Tarvek laughed. "You mean, you threw my food on the floor."_

_Gil laughed too because it was all so ridiculous. "It worked didn't it?"_

_"I could have just told them I was still sick--they would have believed me."_

_Gil shrugged. "What's the fun in that?"_

_Tarvek shook his head and squeezed Gil's hand before letting it go. "My life would be so boring without you, Gil."_

_Gil's heart shot into his throat as his emotions soared. "So you still like me?"_

_Tarvek gave him a weird look. "You're my best friend, Gil--I love you, you know."_

_Gil nearly knocked Tarvek over in a crushing hug before darting off into the trees._

_"What are you doing?" Tarvek asked, laughing as Gil scrambled up a tree like a monkey._

_A moment later, Gil hopped down from a branch right in front of Tarvek and dumped an armload of fruit into Tarvek's fumbling hands. Then he stripped off his coat with a flourish, laying it out on the ground. "Ta-da--a picnic!"_

_Tarvek laughed harder. "It's brilliant, and I'm starving since someone used my breakfast as an escape mechanism."_

_Gil plopped down on a corner of the coat. "Do you, like, read the dictionary for fun or something?"_

_Tarvek threw a cherry, bouncing it off of Gil's head who snatched it out of the air in an impressive show of speed and agility then popped it into his mouth._

_Shaking his head, Tarvek sat next to Gil and bit into an apple with a sigh. "This is almost like home in the spring when the snow has melted and it's starting to get warm."_

_"Do you miss it?" Gil asked, laying back with his hands behind his head to stare through the glass dome at the clouds drifting by._

_"Sometimes," he said then chewed his lip for a moment. "But there are lots of things I like about being here, too."_

_"Like what?" Gil said, waggling his eyebrows until Tarvek tossed a handful of wet grass at him._

_"Fishing for compliments is beneath you."_

_"The ground is the only thing beneath me."_

_Tarvek rolled his eyes. "Idiot."_

_The two boys laughed until their stomachs hurt then kicked off their shoes and dug their toes into the soft grass._

_"So you never got to answer Miss Ziegler's question," Tarvek said suddenly. "What is your favorite smell?"_

_Gil took a deep breath, senses overwhelmed by the scent of the grass still stuck to his cheek then glanced over at Tarvek. "I don't know--I'm kind of leaning towards wet grass, too."_


	17. Chapter 17

Gil smiled in his sleep, childhood memories overwhelming him with familiar scents but unwanted feelings. He rolled to his side, hugging his pillow to his face.

Slowly, the familiarity waned and Gil pulled himself awake, slightly confused when he didn’t find himself in the greenhouse on Castle Wulfenbach. Or with Tarvek laying at his side, toes in the grass.

_Just a dream, right_.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, stretching. The scent of wet grass hung in the air still from the open window near the bed. Gil peeked out, finding a misty rain coating everything including the sash.

He closed the window before setting about his day, pointedly not thinking about rain and picnics and best friends he could never have back.

* * *

Tarvek woke with a startled sob, rolling his face into the pillow to soak up the tears. The dream had been so real, so vivid he could almost feel his mother’s arms around him. Hear her voice. Smell her perfume.

Slowly, his breathing evened out as reality replaced the memories while he listened to the gentle patter of rain outside. Several beats passed before he sighed and got up to shut the window, ignoring the damp floor below.

He wiped his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve then tried to pretend like nothing happened when he heard Violetta prowling around the corners of his room.

“Don’t you have someplace better to be?” he asked, keeping his back to her as he chose an outfit from the wardrobe.

She didn’t say anything for a long time then sighed. “Not really." 

She sounded tired–finally getting Tarvek’s full attention as he turned, a silk shirt draped over his left arm. "What’s wrong now? Is it about the potions? Maybe you could ask Auntie Bellatrix for help–she likes you.”

“It’s not that, and I don’t need help; I’m not a baby.”

“I didn’t say that.” Tarvek frowned at Violetta’s aggressive tone. "What’s wrong with you?“ 

"This isn’t about me at all.” Her pointed glare and crossed arms left no guessing her meaning.

Tarvek turned as he stripped his nightshirt and shoved an arm into a silk sleeve. “What did I do?”

“People are talking." 

Tarvek rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what people are saying about me.”

“You should. Immature, unstable, crazy–just some of the words overheard, and that was just visiting Grandmama this morning. You need to be careful.”

Tarvek turned again, eyes hard on his little cousin. “ _I_  need to be careful? Who’s the one starting things with Martellus? He’s dangerous.”

“And one of the people he’s dangerous to is you. He’s up to something.”

“He’s always up to something,” Tarvek grumbled as he finished dressing.

“Tarvek?” Violetta said, her voice suddenly soft and unsure. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“I’m your appointed Smoke Knight–it’s my sworn duty to protect you. Do you trust me?”

Tarvek froze, fingers on the buttons of his shirt, unsure how to answer that–she was just a kid and so obviously paired with him because she was inexperienced and assumed to be inept. But did she know that, and did he trust her?

He swallowed hard–he hated lying to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. “Where is this coming from?” he asked instead.   _Coward_.

She suddenly appeared at his side without a sound, face unreadable. “Answer the question.”

After everything that had happened the last few days, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. “Look, Violetta-”

“You’re just like the rest of them,” she said, looking away. “You don’t think I can do this job.”

Tarvek pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, tired sigh that only ruffled Violetta’s feathers further. "It’s not that, I swear–it’s just-“

She let out a huff and spun with a flurry of her cloak, disappearing before Tarvek could explain.

"This week just gets better and better,” he mumbled as he finished the buttons and pulled on starched trousers in a buttery gold color.

The worst thing about it all was that he didn’t know how to deal with any of it–Gil had him thrown completely out of sorts, and now it was affecting his relationship with Violetta and his standing within the family.

“All Gil’s fault, of course.”

_He even has me talking to myself_ , he thought as he glanced around the room knowing nothing in his life was ever truly private. Maybe Violetta was right–maybe he was going crazy from exposure to Holzfäller.

Either way, he knew he needed to pull himself together and quit letting Gil bother him. He had way more dignity even if his recent actions showed otherwise.

Pulling on his greatcoat, Tarvek promised himself he would in no way allow Gilgamesh Holzfäller to get under his skin for the rest of the conference. His sour reflection didn’t look at all convinced, but all he needed to do was avoid Holzfäller as much as possible and bite his tongue instead of falling into the temptation to bicker.

Satisfied at this solid although ultimately flimsy plan, he straightened his sigil and strolled out of his room, past the dining hall where he could hear his sister and father having breakfast and right to the conference room to go over his notes–the one place he was sure Gil wouldn’t be since the Baron had other meetings to attend to for the day.

It also got him out of seeing Anevka because he couldn’t even look at her after what had happened at the party, and his father would sense something wrong which would lead to humiliating interrogations. Nope, better to focus on work and stick to the strategy of avoiding everyone.

* * *

After washing and dressing, Gil checked the results of his last test on the mystery liquid he snatched from Tarvek’s lab. He knew if the color had changed to a bright blue it meant the presence of chemicals that could alter the brain to make it more susceptible to suggestion and wasn’t at all surprised to find the vial glowing turquoise when he lifted it from the holder.

“I knew it. He’s such a sneaky weasel liar–I bet he put that creepy cousin of his up to the whole thing.”

Tucking the vial into his pocket, his mind already spun with ideas of revenge but the scent of damp grass that lingered in the room overwhelmed his senses again sending him back to Castle Wulfenbach until he shook the memory away. He didn’t have time for sentimental nonsense right now.


End file.
